God Help The Outcasts
by Alianne-Graysie
Summary: A Cinderella, Pocahontas and Hunchback of Notre Dame Crossover. No OC's! A work in progress. PLEASE read and review!   Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, Disney does.
1. Goodbye

_**God Help The Outcasts**_

_**A Disney Crossover Fanfiction**_

_**By: Alianne Graysie**_

_**Chapter One: Goodbye**_

Nakoma sighed as she braided Pocahontas's long, jet-black hair.

"What's the matter?" Pocahontas gazed at her in the wide oval mirror, her large brown eyes narrowed with concern.

Nakoma sighed again.

"Do you really think this is the right path?" she asked. She focused her eyes on her best friend's braid, not wanting to meet her gaze.

Pocahontas remained silent for a moment. Nakoma focused on overlapping the three sections of her hair.

"Yes." She said. A small grin tugged at her full brown lips. "John Rolfe is the man I choose." She paused, frowning, and a nostalgic light brightened her eyes. "John Smith has been gone from my life for far too long. Although he will always be a dear friend, things will never be the same between us."

"But you had such a strong bond in Jamestown." Nakoma's eyes lit up with a memory of her own. "I remember all the times I used to have to lie to Kocoum and your father about where you'd run off to."

The countenances of both women fell at the mention of Kocoum. The strong, silent favorite of the chief (and Pocahontas's original intended) had been killed in what had boiled down to a fatal misunderstanding.

Nakoma continued to braid, both women now in a tense silence.

She helped Pocahontas into her coat, biting back tears. Just outside of the heavy, ornate wooden door waited her best friend's new love, impatient to sail away with her to new worlds.

Pocahontas turned and smiled excitedly at her friend, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes welled with moisture and the life-long friends hugged each other for the last time in a long time, letting their tears flow freely.

"I will miss you, my dearest friend." Pocahontas sobbed.

Nakoma sniffed into her friend's shoulder.

"You never did listen to me." she said. The women pulled away from each other and clasped hands. "But that's why I love you so much."

Pocahontas chuckled, her lips drawn up in a watery smile.

"Pocahontas!" she jerked her head toward the door, where John Rolfe was no doubt waiting with the carriage.

Pocahontas touched the new golden cross Nakoma now wore around her neck.

"May God bless you." Nakoma said.

Pocahontas smiled.

"And may you find your heart's true path in your new-found faith."

The women kissed each other lightly on the cheek. Then Pocahontas was gone, bounding out the door with such enthusiasm Nakoma thought her own heart would burst from the excitement.

Nakoma watched the wood and metal carriage rattle away across the cobblestone streets of London and wondered if she'd ever see her friend again.

"She was a dear, that one." Mrs. Jenkins' sweet voice startled her. Nakoma turned, and the little old lady took her hand and patted it gently. "I'm sure she's off to some new adventure. John Rolfe is a fine young lad. He'll take good care of her."

Nakoma nodded, blinking another tear onto her cheek. Mrs. Jenkins suddenly smiled. "Speaking of adventures, I found someone who can take you to France."

"Really?" Nakoma's heart leapt into her throat. She'd been dreaming of the day she could go to France and visit the Notre Dame cathedral since she'd gained her new faith. The cathedral, she'd heard, was the most beautiful and largest in all of Europe. And its many bells could be heard ringing all over Paris, like an angelic choir in the clouds.

Mrs. Jenkins led the way into the sitting room, Nakoma following eagerly, all thoughts of Pocahontas lost in the excitement.

"He says he can take you all the way to Paris." Nakoma sat hard on a cushioned chair, wiping her eyes with a hanky. Mrs. Jenkins hobbled over to her chair with a piece of parchment. "And the best part of all…it's all free!"

Nakoma had been blowing her nose, but she stopped mid breath and stared over the hanky.

"Free?" she said. The cloth muffled her voice, but her disbelief was evident.

"Yes!" Mrs. Jenkins said, walking in excited circles as she talked. "I paid for the whole trip myself, meals and all!"

Nakoma suddenly felt like crying again.

"Mrs. Jenkins, you shouldn't have!" she wailed. "I would have found a way!"

But Nakoma's tears and protests were cut short with a meaningful glance from the sweet old lady. She peered down her nose and through the tiny glasses perched atop her nose, and that was that.

"I don't want to hear it, young lady." She said rather sternly. Her eyes softened at Nakoma's bewildered expression. "Pocahontas is off on her next adventure. What kind of caretaker would I be if I didn't help you off on yours?"

Nakoma gazed at her for a long moment, her eyes welling. But she was smiling, and soon the two women were laughing with glee.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins!" Nakoma cried, pulling the little old lady into a rather tight embrace.

"That's quite alright, dear." She said, patting her back. "Quite alright."

The piece of parchment Mrs. Jenkins had picked up earlier, Nakoma soon discovered, was a ship pass, with the setting-off date and time handwritten in blue ink. She would be aboard the _Sunset_ two weeks from now, headed to France and ultimately Paris, where the Notre Dame cathedral awaited her.

The man who had generously agreed to take her on was an old friend of John Rolfe's, a fisherman and trader who sailed up and down the European coast in his small ship. He'd been headed to France, and luckily enough to the capital to deliver letters from London.

Nakoma would be sleeping in a nicely-sized cabin under the deck, and her only chores were to mend clothing or bags that might become damaged on the journey.

"Of course." Nakoma had snorted. "Men are always too busy to learn how to sew."

The journey would take a little under a month, providing for changes in the wind and weather. She would arrive just in time for the renowned 'Festival of Fools', an annual celebration of all things wacky, held in the city square in front of the cathedral.

"You should go, dear." Mrs. Jenkins told her, a dreamy kind of look glazing her eyes over. "I've always wanted to go…you could write me and tell me all about it."

Nakoma grinned. "It sounds like fun."

Mrs. Jenkins winked.


	2. Across The Sea

_**Chapter Two: Across The Sea**_

Right on time, two weeks later, Nakoma found herself at the harbor, knapsack strapped to her shoulders, glancing from the ticket in her hand to the ships docked along the boardwalk. Some of them contained noisy crewmembers unloading or taking on their cargo, while others welcomed aristocrats and wealthy nobles aboard.

"The _Sunset_…" she muttered, squinting in the afternoon sun reflecting off the waters of the harbor.

"Miss Nakoma!" a male voice cried from the end of the boardwalk. Nakoma stretched up on her toes, shielding her eyes with her hands, and saw a broad-shouldered man waving at her. She hurried off in his direction, apologizing to people she bumped into.

"Miss Nakoma, so good to meet you. I'm Captain Lewis." Nakoma shook hands with a stout young man with dirt colored curls and fresh green eyes. "I was afraid I might have to leave without you."

Nakoma's eyes widened a bit, and the man chuckled. "Just kidding!" he said with a broad chuckle. He clapped a hand on her shoulder and swept her aboard the ship. "I wouldn't leave a paying customer behind, no, sir!"

Nakoma suddenly remembered Mrs. Jenkins' heartfelt sacrifice and had to tell herself not to cry.

"Well, this here's the _Sunset._ She's not very big, and she's a tad leaky at times, but I wouldn't trade her for nothing!" Captain Lewis had just finished giving Nakoma a thorough tour of the little ship, and was now walking with her along the deck. "You there!" he called out to a nearby deckhand. The lad scrambled to his feet and stood at attention; his soapy hands and dirty knees revealed his lowly position as the deck-scrubber. "Tell the others it's time to shove off! We've got to get this young lady to Paris in time for the Festival!"

Nakoma looked a bit puzzled.

"But I'm going to see the-"

"The cathedral, yes, I know. Mrs. Jenkins told me all about it." Captain Lewis grinned at her, a mischievous light dancing in his young green eyes. "But once you see the Festival, you'll forget all about that dusty old building. Believe me, it's the experience of a lifetime."

The deck was suddenly alive with activity as the young deck-scrubber called out the captain's orders to the rest of the crew. Everywhere ragged looking young men tied down the sails and boxes of cargo, or pulled up the heavy metal anchors on either side of the ship, or swung from the ropes doing absolutely nothing useful. Nakoma gazed around the deck in wonder, ears full of their call and responses: "Hoist the anchors!" "Rig up the sails!" "Get those crates tied down!" "What's for supper, Cap?"

Captain Lewis glanced up at a gangly, bearded deckhand dangling from a rope and scowled.

"Nothing, if you don't get down here and stop fooling around!" he barked. The deckhand swung down grudgingly from the mast, grumbling as he landed rather ungracefully on the deck below.

"This is amazing." Nakoma said, still caught up in the fervor and excitement of the preparations.

Captain Lewis turned to her, his mouth turned up in a gleeful grin.

"You think this is exciting? Wait til we cast off!"

As if on cue, the deckhands finished their preparations, and the sails billowed to life as a strong wind filled the cloth. The ship lurched forward against the waves; Nakoma ran to the railing, savoring the feeling of the salty wind on her face. Though she'd been on a ship before, traveling with Pocahontas from Virginia to England, it had been nothing like this. She'd been following Pocahontas, trailing along after her friend as she embarked on her latest adventure.

But this was her journey and her story, and the revelation filled her stomach with little dancing butterflies.

_Paris, here I come!_ She called silently across the sea.


	3. Ugly Duckling

Sorry bout this...I was spelling Drizella's name wrong this whole time. :P And, as an English major, I certainly can't let that slide. Thanks to all my wunnerful readers, however few you may be! =D

Chapter Three: Ugly Duckling

Drizella twirled before the mirror at her mother's request.

"Beautiful! Just beautiful!" the old woman cried, clapping her hands together. Her blue eyes were wide with fervor and admiration. Drizella lifted up the obscenely garish, lime green fabric of her new dress and made a face.

"Mother, do I have to wear this?" she asked. She examined the equally flamboyant turquoise bow in her brown curls dubiously.

"Of course!" she laughed. "How else is anyone supposed to notice you?"

Drizella frowned. Her mother had just insulted her openly for the third time that morning.

"I'm going to the bathroom." she said, trying to hide the pain in her voice.

"Hurry back!" her mother called as she picked up her skirts. "I need lots of time to make you presentable!"

By the time she reached the bathroom, Drizella was in tears. She slammed the door and leaned against it, staring in the mirror at the trails her tears were making on her powdered skin. In a rage she snatched a towel from the lavishly decorated shelf against the wall and wiped her face clean. She then ripped the bow from her hair and threw it to the floor.

"Am I really that ugly?" she asked the mirror, leaning against the sink on her arms. Hurt, dark eyes stared at her from beneath neatly plucked eyebrows. Her nostrils flared over her face, and her narrow pink lips trembled from the effort of containing her sobs.

She turned away from the non-responsive glass and stared instead at the turquoise ribbon, crumpled on the floor.

"I hate you." She hissed at it, feeling a little silly for talking to a piece of cloth.

She didn't care.

"I hate you, too!" she spat at her dress, untying it and wriggling out of it, leaving it standing on its hoop on the floor.

She glanced in the mirror again, now in her white cotton under dress, and thought she felt a little better. But those curls-those fake, stupid curls her mother had spent all morning on-made her eyes surge with angry tears again.

She picked up the pitcher of water on the floor-it was nearly full-and dumped its contents into the basin. She thoroughly washed her hair, fingers digging through the grease holding her hair in that ridiculous shape.

Straightening herself, she looked in the mirror yet again and watched as water dripped from her now straight hair onto her white dress.

_Mother's going to kill me._ She thought, but that thought was quickly replaced by another. _But I don't care._

The second thought appealed to her greatly. She let it repeat itself over and over, like a chant in her head, as she pulled another towel from the shelf and vigorously rubbed her hair with it.

_I don't care, I don't care, I don't care!_

"I don't care anymore." She said aloud, letting the towel drop to the floor. She thought she looked much better this way, with her stringy, wet hair clinging to her shoulders and ridiculous embellishments gone from her body and face.

At least it was real. It was _her._

Drizella suddenly felt vulnerable, because of her mother's voice calling for her from Anastasia's old room _and_ because of this startling self-revelation. She found herself reaching for the lime green atrocity still standing upright on the floor, like an empty shell.

_No. _A voice, her voice, asserted in her mind. Her trembling fingers stopped inches from the fabric. _This is what you used to be. Not anymore. Not after this._

Drizella suddenly saw the mask for what it truly was-a mask to hide behind, the empty shell of her life since Cinderella in all her charm and beauty had come along.

_No._ Her voice said again. _It wasn't Cinderella's fault. You know you and Anastasia and Mother made her a servant to make yourselves feel better. Anastasia realized this. And look where she is now, happy with her husband, the baker._

"Anastasia's a traitor." She said aloud, but the words were an empty lie and she knew it.

_Anastasia's not the traitor. You're a traitor to yourself._


	4. Good Riddance

Just a slight change in spelling. =] Thanks again to my beautiful readers! You keep me motivated!

Chapter Four: Good Riddance

Drizella pressed her ear to the bathroom door, debating with herself frantically.

_What good is it going to do you to run away? Where will you go? How will you survive?_

She bit her lip.

_I don't know. But I'll find a way. I can't stand it here any longer._

_What if Mother comes after you? What then? You can't run from her forever._

_Cinderella got away. So did Anastasia. I can, too._

_But you're the only one left._

Drizella wanted very badly to hit something. Instead she kept her ear to the door, listening hard for her mother's footsteps. When she was sure the house was quiet, she carefully turned the knob and cracked open the door.

"Drizella!" She jumped, stifling a squeak, and slammed the door. Her mother stood in the hall, eyes narrowed and foot tapping. "What _are _you doing?"

Drizella's bottom lip began to tremble, but she stilled it with some effort.

"I'm…I'm not going to the ball." She said through the door.

"You're not _going_?" Her mother repeated, her voice raised as a warning.

_Here goes…_ Drizella thought, pressing her back to the door. She took a deep breath.

"No, I'm not. I'm tired of being your dress-up doll, Mother!" She winced, waiting for the harsh reply that would surely follow.

But instead of yelling, she heard something far worse-the sliding of a key into a lock, the lock on the bathroom door. "No, Mother, please!" She began to beat on the door, tears streaming freely.

"Then you'll stay in there until you can learn to respect me." Her mother retorted. "Cinderella and Anastasia were bad enough. I won't have _you_ disrespecting me, too."

Drizella slumped against the door, sobbing heavily, and listened to her mother's sharp footsteps echo away on the marble floor.

"What am I going to do now?" she cried aloud. "It's hopeless!" Through her blurry vision she saw the lime green dress and the turquoise bow.

_Maybe I should just be thankful for what I have, even if it is a sad existence._

She found herself reaching for the dress yet again, but the sound of something scratching at the door made her freeze. Turning, she saw two little tails waving about at the base of the door, belonging to two mice, one plump and the other skinny. They were tugging at something, obviously having a difficult time.

Drizella leapt to her feet but didn't scream. She'd seen one of these mice before, under her teacup, when Cinderella was still there.

The skinny mouse turned to her, laying a tiny finger on its nose.

The plump mouse tugged, grunting a little, and finally brought forth the fruit of his labor-a shiny silver key. Drizella gasped, hardly believing her eyes.

But the mice, in a team effort, lifted the key toward her, eyes glittering mysteriously. She took it from them, eyes wide and mind strangely blank.

_This is too strange._

"Thank you." She said, feeling even sillier for talking to mice. But they nodded once and scurried back under the door.

Drizella stared after them for a moment, and then glanced down at the key in her hand. It all seemed too surreal…but then, so had the notion of Cinderella and the prince getting married.

Drizella pressed her ear to the door again, just to make sure her mother wasn't guarding the door. Hearing nothing, she carefully slid the key into the lock and turned it, ever so slowly, so as not to make a sound. She then peeked through the keyhole; her mother was nowhere in sight.

_Why didn't I think of that before?_ She thought to herself as she turned the knob and silently slipped out into the hall.

Once out of the bathroom, she paused, heart pounding, and considered her options. Her room was down the hall, right next to Anastasia's old room, where her mother was busy rummaging around. But it was before that room, and not after, and for that she was grateful.

Taking a quiet, deep breath, she crept slowly down the hall, one step at a time, holding her breath. Twice she heard Lucifer meow and almost panicked, but she soon reached her room and ducked safely inside.

It was late afternoon, and the sunlight was fading, but she didn't dare light the lantern. Instead she went to her wardrobe and pulled out some of her plainer gowns and a traveling cloak. She donned one and gathered the rest in a bag, and tucked her riding boots safely inside the bundle. She couldn't risk clomping around in shoes until she was away from the mansion.

Here she stopped, staring at the bundle on her bed. She needed money; she would never be able to survive, much less travel without it. Her thoughts wandered to her mother's safe, where she kept a stash of gold and silver coins at all times. It was locked with a key, but where that key was Drizella could only guess.

But her mother's room was back down the hall, and she figured it was worth a try. So, heaving the bundle over her shoulder, she tiptoed to the door, made sure the hallway was clear, and stole quickly into her mother's room.

Once inside, Drizella struggled to adjust to the darkness. Heavy, black drapes covered all of the windows, so that no light could touch the room.

_Fantastic._ She thought. _A blind search, just what I need right now._ She set her bundle down on the bed-

"Mreow!" Lucifer screeched, jumping from the bed. Drizella clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. In the silence that followed the cat's cry she heard her mother's footsteps in the hall and panicked, glancing about for an escape. Snatching her bag up, she dove into her mother's wardrobe and carefully shut the door just as her mother bustled into the room with a candle.

"_What_ is the matter, Lucifer?" her mother scolded. The cat meowed again, as if complaining, and Drizella heard her mother cluck her tongue. "Shame on you, scaring me half to death over nothing!"

Her footsteps left the room and faded back down the hallway, and Drizella released the breath she'd been holding. She gently pried the wardrobe open and stepped out, realizing her mother had left the candle in the room.

That meant she would be coming back soon; Drizella quickly glanced around, getting her bearings.

The safe was in the corner by the biggest window…and the door was opened. Drizella blinked, rubbed her eyes, and stared at the safe again. Yes, there it was, the door hanging open very slightly, as if it had been waiting for her all along. She dashed over to it and slowly opened the door; she knew too well how it liked to creak.

Her patience paid off; the door didn't make a sound as she carefully swung it open. And there inside was a single velvet drawstring pouch, bulging from its contents. She gently picked it up and pulled on the sides; it fell open to reveal dozens of gold coins, glistening in the candlelight.

_Wonderful!_ She thought, allowing herself a small grin as she pulled the strings and tucked the pouch into her bag.

But her mother's footsteps were coming down the hall again, and she dove back into the wardrobe.

"There's that candle." Drizella heard the soft _swish_ of her mother's gown and the little scrape as she picked up the candle holder.

But the fading footsteps she'd expected to hear didn't come. Instead, the footsteps came closer, slowly, and she knew she'd seen the open safe.

"What's this?" the footsteps passed the wardrobe. Drizella heard the creak of the safe door, back and forth as her mother examined it. "I must have put that pouch somewhere else, maybe in the other room."

Drizella wanted to cry tears of relief as her mother left the room and headed back down the hallway to look for her gold. She leapt from the wardrobe, bundle tucked safely under her arm, and went to the door, checking up and down the hallway.

Then, taking her chances, she made a mad dash for the staircase and proceeded to do something she'd always wanted to try-she slid down the banister and landed on the floor below on both feet. Feeling a bit proud of herself, she ran the rest of the way toward the door and stopped.

_What am I doing?_ She thought briefly, but pushed the thought aside as her mother's footsteps echoed in the hallway above. She waited til they passed, and then opened one of the double doors, just wide enough for her to slip outside.

_Goodbye, Mother._ She thought dryly as she shut the door quietly behind her. _And good riddance._


	5. Outcast

Hurray for Chapter Five! I was very happy when I checked my mail and found so many alerts from inside! Just wanna say thanks to all my readers; you keep me writing! And please be patient with me on both stories…finals week is next week! O.o

Drizella wished desperately that she'd thought to pack an umbrella; she stumbled through the rain and toward the town bakery, where she hoped to see Anastasia. She'd been walking for hours, avoiding riders and coaches alike for fear her mother was coming for her.

But approaching the little dark shop, she knew she wouldn't find help here, not today. She clutched her hood under her chin as she passed the doorway-

"Oh!" she cried, for a hand was suddenly clamped over her mouth, and a pair of strong arms pulled her toward the door. "Let me go!" she tried to shriek, but the hand muffled her cry.

"Drizella, it's me!" Anastasia's familiar voice hissed close to her ear. She stopped struggling as the door closed; the arms released her, and she turned to find the baker looking sheepishly at the floor.

"Begging your pardon, miss." He said. Anastasia clutched her hands, eyes wide with fright.

"What are you doing? Riders have passed through here looking for you!"

Drizella didn't respond, only stared hopelessly at the floor. Anastasia pursed her lips; something was definitely wrong. "Alright, tell me everything."

As Anastasia led her toward a cozy little kitchen with a merry fire crackling in the hearth, Drizella began to talk, slowly and haltingly to start. But 2 slices of hot bread and three cups of tea later, the whole incident had been revealed. Anastasia grasped her sister's hands comfortingly as silent tears streamed freely down her face.

"I just don't want to go back." She sobbed. "I'm tired of being her plaything."

Anastasia nodded.

"I know it's hard. She's our mother, after all. But we're here to help you, and Cinderella, too. I'm just so glad you are free from her." The sisters exchanged watery smiles.

"Don't be so sure." The baker's trembling voice by the window sent a shiver down Drizella's spine. "She's here!"

Sure enough, the sounds of horses whinnying and cart wheels turning could be heard through the open window.

Anastasia and Drizella both leapt to their feet.

"Quick! You can hide in my wardrobe!" Anastasia pushed her sister into her room, flinging a finger towards the corner, where a small wardrobe stood open. "Keep all your things with you-"

"My cloak!" Drizella cried. "It's in the kitchen!" But a sharp rapping at the front door made them both freeze.

Anastasia bit her lip with indecision.

"I'll take care of it. Now go!" Drizella obeyed as Anastasia sprinted from the room. It occurred to her, however briefly, that this was the second time she'd been forced into hiding, and in a wardrobe-

"Mother!" Anastasia greeted just as Drizella closed the wardrobe door. "What a pleasant surprise-"

"Spare me." The cutting, all-too-familiar voice of the Lady Tremaine made Drizella cringe. The sound of heels clicking on the wooden floor echoed loudly in the quiet little house. "I know she came here, and I want to know where she is."

"Whomever are you talking about?" Anastasia asked innocently. Drizella cheered her sister on silently; she sounded so brave.

"Don't play dumb with me, girl." Her mother snapped impatiently. "Your sister's gone missing."

"Oh, my goodness!" Anastasia gasped. Drizella heard the floorboards creak as her sister moved, presumably closer to their mother. "Oh, I hope the poor dear's alright, what with all this rain. Here, Mother, come sit down-"

"Don't touch me!" her mother cried. Drizella held her breath in the tense silence that followed. No one moved for what seemed like hours, but finally Anastasia spoke, voice full of unshed tears.

"I was just trying to help-"

"You are a traitor, a liar, and nothing more!" Drizella was shocked by how calmly her mother made these accusations. "You're no better than that fool who calls herself the Princess. And now that Drizella has betrayed me, she is the same!"

Another silence filled the little house.

"Then why are you searching for her?" Anastasia asked coolly. "If she's a traitor like me, why don't you just let her go?"

A startled, pained cry preceded a heavy thud; Drizella assumed Anastasia had been slapped and had to force herself to stay in the closet. If she revealed herself, everything Anastasia had done would be for naught.

She heard the sharp click of her mother's heels in the kitchen and the baker consoling Anastasia, who was softly sobbing. Drizella dug her nails into her palms and slowed her breathing.

_Steady, girl._

"What's this?" The sound of cloth slipping over wood was like a death toll; Drizella knew she'd found the cloak.

"It's mine!" Anastasia asserted.

"And why wouldn't it be?" The sudden honey in her mother's voice gave away her suspicions. "Though it is quite damp. You haven't been outside recently, have you?"

There was a sound of shuffling feet; Anastasia was getting up.

"Well, yes. Earlier, to…feed the horses."

There was a silence, and then the slap of cloth hitting the floor.

"I don't believe you." More sharp clicks told Drizella that her mother was heading towards Anastasia's room, and consequently, the wardrobe. "I know she's here, Anastasia, and if I have to search through every room in this pathetic house-"

The sudden fanfare of trumpets brought the clicks to a halt. Drizella could recognize those trumpets anywhere; she'd been trained to primp on a moment's notice so she'd be ready when the royal carriage arrived.

The prince, and consequently the princess, had arrived.

"Oh! It's the prince!" cried Anastasia out of habit.

"And Cinderella!" the baker chimed in. Drizella couldn't help but smile; for all the time she'd spent hating that blonde, sweet beauty, she'd learned to love the sound of her name, in that one instant.

"Oh, what a pleasant surprise." Drizella's smile disappeared abruptly as her mother's footsteps came nearer, this time quickened in pace. Of course…while Anastasia and the baker were busy attending to the royal couple, her mother would be free to search the house-

She stifled a gasp as the door to Anastasia's room flew open with a bang.

"Come on out, Drizella, I know you're in here. There's no use hiding…I'll find you sooner or later." The harshness in her mother's voice made her hair stand on end, even in the musty, cramped wardrobe. "You're a real criminal, you know…stealing my gold, running away from home. I could have you arrested." Her mother's heels were muffled on the carpeted floor, which made them harder to hear as they drew closer. "You wouldn't want that, now would you? To force your poor old mother to bring her only remaining daughter to trial…"

Her mother's voice was close now, too close for comfort. She backed away from the door, holding her breath.

But it was no good. A second later the wardrobe door was open, and her mother was sneering in at her triumphantly.

"Come on, Drizella, we've lots of time to make up. We're already late for the duke's ball." She took hold of Drizella's wrist and tugged her from the wardrobe. "If you'll come home without a fight, I'll forget this ever happened-"

"No." Drizella jerked her hand away, reaching back into the wardrobe for her pack. "I'm not coming home, Mother. I'm not a doll for you to play dress up with." She glanced over the old woman's shoulder; Anastasia had just appeared in the doorway, accompanied by the prince himself and Cinderella.

Her mother smiled wickedly and suddenly snatched the pack from Drizella's hands.

"You're a thieving liar." She accused, reaching into the bundle and pulling out her velvet coin pouch. "This is the thanks I get for raising you? For giving you all you ever wanted?" She seemed ready to cry, but Drizella knew it was only a show. "I can't believe this."

"Is this true?" The prince stepped forward, eyeing Drizella suspiciously. "You know, stealing is a crime-"

"I…somehow doubt this is the whole story, dear." Cinderella said softly, placing a slender hand on the prince's shoulder. She glanced meaningfully at Drizella, and then fixed her stepmother with a piercing blue gaze. "Let's hear Drizella's side before we go jumping to conclusions."

"Very well." The prince nodded once at Drizella, who began to tremble.

"Well, you see…your Highness…I did run away. And I did take her gold." The prince opened his mouth to speak, but Cinderella quieted him with a touch.

"Please, continue."

"But I was tired of being used by her. To her," she pointed accusingly at her mother, "I'm no more valuable than that sack of gold in her hands. And Cinderella and Anastasia both can attest to this." She fell to her knees, no longer able to stand. "Please, Your Highness, grant me permission to leave her custody. I will return her gold, and everything that belongs to her. Please…" By this point she could barely speak for the sobs choking her. "Just don't make me go back."


	6. Escape

Here's Chapter Six! Just wanna say thanks again to my faithful readers!

_Chapter Six: Escape_

Her mother began to laugh, a sharp, cackling kind of laugh that reminded Drizella of stories about witches at midnight.

"How long will you listen to this nonsense, Your Highnesses?" She stooped and tugged Drizella to her feet. "She simply loves drama…causing it, being in the limelight. You could say she's my little diva."

Drizella wrenched away from her mother and ran to Anastasia, clinging desperately to her sister's arm.

"It's all a lie, your Highness! Tell him, Anastasia! Tell him, Cinderella!" She glanced back and forth between her two awestruck sisters, searching for a sign that either understood her. She spotted a small bruise on Anastasia's cheek and ran with her chance. "Tell him about how she slapped you!" She turned to Cinderella. "And how she made you work in your father's own home!"

The prince looked questioningly at Cinderella, who lowered her gaze, unable to look her husband in the face.

"Is this true?" he asked softly. Cinderella, glancing briefly at her stepmother, turned back to the prince and nodded, only once, and very quickly. He then turned to Anastasia, who turned her cheek to the light, frowning down at the ground.

"You see, Your Highness, it's true!" Drizella insisted. The prince directed his stunned gaze at the Lady Tremaine, who appeared to be shocked.

"You can't believe them, Your Highness," she said, taking slow steps backward toward the door. "They're all faking. And besides, even if it were true, where would Drizella go?"

"We could take her in," Anastasia replied. The baker nodded his agreement. "We have room for one more."

Her mother leveled a devastating glare at her, but Anastasia didn't so much as blink.

"Please, Your Highness," Drizella begged.

The prince stood motionless for a moment, glancing between the retreating Lady Tremaine and her desperate daughters.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to grant your daughter's request, madam," he said finally. "She's well old enough to take care of herself, and if her sister is willing to offer her a home no one can stop her." Drizella released the breath she'd been holding, and then looked fearfully at her mother, who was frozen in her tracks.

The Lady Tremaine folded her arms slowly and drew her thin lips up into a smirk.

"I won't leave without her."

Drizella looked fearfully from the prince to her mother, wondering what could happen now. Cinderella caught her eye briefly and then spoke.

"Perhaps we could go into the kitchen and talk things over—"

"Do not presume to tell me what to do." Cinderella drew back at the sharp cut-down. "You may be the princess, but don't think for one second that I've forgotten about what you've cost me."

The prince suddenly stepped forward, anger evident in his movements.

"You will not address my wife so rudely," he commanded. "I think it's high time for you to leave."

Drizella watched her mother pale for the first time; shivers wriggled up and down her spine. She'd never seen her mother so distressed, not since Cinderella had slid her foot into the second glass slipper.

"But I won't—"

"Now." At that word two guards entered the hallway outside the door and took hold of Lady Tremaine's arms, ignoring her protests. As she was dragged down the hallway the prince followed her out, leaving Drizella alone with her sisters.

She nearly collapsed onto the floor with relief. Anastasia pulled her into a tight embrace, and when she released her Cinderella touched her shoulder gently.

"Although Anastasia saved you with that offer, I wouldn't stay here if I were you. She'll come back for you, and you'll never get any peace." She smiled sadly at Drizella. "I suppose that's what comes with being the last to leave."

Her words made sense, but Drizella had no idea what she was supposed to do.

"So…where should I go?" she asked dubiously. Cinderella pulled the two sisters close to her, so only they could hear her.

"I can get you safely to Paris." Drizella's eyes widened, and she pulled away.

"Paris?" Cinderella shushed her gently, beckoning her back.

"Yes. It's the only place she won't come looking for you. I also have a good friend there who can take care of you until Lady Tremaine's had a chance to cool off. I've been sworn to secrecy, so I can't tell you her name, but she's a big hit at the Festival of Fools." Cinderella grinned, and then her expression became thoughtful. "I think it's actually going on at this time of year, too."

The sisters both glanced at each other curiously, and then fixed their inquisitive gazes back on Cinderella. The princess tugged a little silk pouch out of her overcoat; it was a bright violet, and had gold-colored drawstrings that shone in the lantern light. Pulling on the sides, she plucked out a small, folded up piece of parchment and carefully unfolded it, maneuvering so she could see the words printed on it.

"What does it say? What is it?" The sisters asked, jostling around to get a better view. Cinderella chuckled and read it aloud.

" 'When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand.'"

"Oh," Drizella breathed. "What does it mean?"

Cinderella handed her the parchment and shrugged.

"I don't really know. But she gave it to me before I left, as a token of our friendship. I'm sure if you find her and show this to her, she'll remember me and know that I sent you." Drizella examined the oval-shaped figure sketched on the parchment. Lines intersected the inside of it in regular intervals, creating little squares. A smaller oval had been drawn inside of the larger, and there was a large cross in the center of it. Another symbol, a black cross within a white circle, had been drawn right beside it. It puzzled her, and so she refolded the paper and placed it back in Cinderella's hand.

"That's a strange thing to give someone as a parting gift." she remarked. Cinderella chuckled again, replacing the parchment, and then gently pressed the silk pouch into Drizella's hand, the earlier seriousness returning to her demeanor.

"We really do need to go now." Almost as soon as the words had left her lips the prince re-entered the room, brows furrowed and eyes flashing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded of Cinderella. She frowned, walking with Drizella toward the door.

"Later," she said, and then, glancing back at Anastasia, waved with a small smile. "Good to see you again, Anastasia."

The red-head smiled brightly.

"And you, too. Goodbye, Drizella." Drizella turned back to glance at her sister; she was almost sorry she had to leave. Sure, her sister and the baker's humble abode wasn't as grand as she was used to, but she wouldn't have minded it for one second if it meant getting away from her mother and into the presence of people who cared about her.

"'Bye, Anastasia," she replied with a half-hearted wave. Cinderella then tugged her out the door and through the kitchen, where they stopped long enough to retrieve Drizella's dirty, damp cloak from the floor. Then it was out to the carriage, where she reluctantly climbed in at Cinderella's urging. The prince was of no interest to Drizella now; even after years of trying to catch his eye all she wanted now was to watch her sister out the window as she waved goodbye. The baker joined Anastasia, and together they waved until they faded into the distance.

Drizella slumped back in her seat, staring at the floor with a despondent frown.

_Well, I've escaped, _she thought,_ but I'm not sure whether that's good or bad. _She looked up, glancing from the brooding prince to the silent princess. Cinderella caught her eye and smiled encouragingly. She tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace.

She sighed and resorted to staring out the window, absentmindedly fingering the ties on Cinderella's silk pouch, which was tucked in her skirt pocket.

_I suppose only time will tell._


	7. Paris At Last

Kind of a short chapter...:P I'm finally starting to get back in business with the updating. Thanks to all my readers for being so patient with me! And without any further ado, here's Chapter Seven!

Chapter Seven: Paris At Last

Nakoma sighed as she pulled the needle through the coarse fabric of the torn mail bag. She sat in the back of the wagon with the remainder of Captain Lewis' wares, waiting for him to come out of the little shop. He was delivering mail and negotiating prices on some wool blankets he'd brought over from England, and she'd soon learned how shrewd he was when it came to getting the top price for his merchandise. He could be in there for a good deal of time.

She put down the sewing for a moment and gazed at the people bustling about in the streets. It was around midday, and so the little town just south of Paris was crawling with peasants and nobles alike as they went about their daily business. Just a few more stops, he'd said, but that had been nearly three hours and five shops ago. When would he find her a coach to Paris? She longed to be standing on the steps of the cathedral, admiring its architecture and dignity, and more importantly, to be within its stone walls, worshipping the one true God.

Memories rushed back, memories that had been pushed to the side in all the excitement of the voyage: Mrs. Jenkins taking her to church on Sundays, the steady conviction she'd felt growing each time, and finally, that beautiful moment when she'd let herself go and decided to hold tightly to the hand of Christ. Yes, her transformation had been swift, but the fruitful spirit that God had placed within her was no less treasured. She smiled a little, and then returned to her sewing, sending up silent prayers and praises to the King.

A few moments later the captain stormed from the shop, muttering curses to himself. Nakoma couldn't see him, but she could hear him and knew he'd lost a bargain.

"What happened this time?" she asked, poking her head out from the back of the wagon. The captain handed her the items that hadn't sold.

"Tried to cheat me out of three of my best blankets. That rascal!" Captain Lewis paused, lifting his cap to scratch his head. "He was smart, too smart for my tastes. It was a good thing I didn't go through with the deal. I can find someone else who'll pay twice what he was willing."

Nakoma struggled to keep the grin from her face, but he caught it and frowned at her. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing," she said. She put the goods back where they belonged and then picked up her sewing. "Just wondering if you've met your match."

"'Course not!" Lewis barked, his face turning an unbecoming shade of red. "No one outsmarts the Captain! If he'd been half as smart as he let on he'd have those blankets right now!"

Nakoma shook her head, still grinning.

"I didn't mean to insult your intelligence, Captain," she said meekly. "You just seemed upset, and I know you. You don't get angry easily."

"Angry? I'm not angry!" Lewis stomped away from her and accosted the rest of the _Sunset_ crew. "Do I look angry?"

Nakoma snickered softly as she finished the stitch.

_He's angry, all right._

A couple of hours later the Captain finally made good on his word.

"That coach, right there," he said, pointing across the street at a large, black carriage drawn by four horses. "It's headed for Paris. You might be a bit late for the Festival, but don't worry." Lewis grinned. "They party all night, so you'll have plenty of time."

Nakoma frowned, shouldering her pack.

"I already told you, I'm not going for—"

"I know, I know," said the Captain, waving her off toward the carriage. "But trust me, the Festival is something you've got to see."

Nakoma turned to take a step, but she couldn't leave, not yet.

"Thank you, for everything," she said, pulling Lewis into a quick hug. The man was rigid at first, but after a second or two patted her back awkwardly.

"Thanks for the mending," he replied, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed so stern, but his green eyes twinkled with a rare sensitivity. "Perhaps we'll meet again someday."

Nakoma smiled.

"I would like that," she said, and then moved her hand in the traditional farewell of her people. "Goodbye!"

Lewis chuckled and pushed her gently toward the coach.

"You'd better get going. It's about to leave."

She allowed herself one last glance toward Captain Lewis and his crew, and then turned and made her way to the coach, feeling strangely free. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not; having her horizons open made her feel somewhat insecure. Stepping up to the coach, though, she pushed her thoughts to the side and opened the little burlap pouch that Lewis had given her. It contained a few assorted coins, enough to get her a ride and something to eat when she arrived. The Captain had told her she'd earned it, but she knew he was just covering up his own generosity. Still, she'd accepted it, knowing he'd feel insulted if she didn't.

"Fare, please," the prim looking driver said, holding out a hand. Nakoma deposited a few coins, which the man then counted with interest, and at his nod climbed aboard. There was only one other passenger in the massive coach, a small, austere young woman with dark hair and a plain gown. As Nakoma sat down she glanced up, curiosity evident in her dark eyes. A second or two passed; to alleviate the uneasiness Nakoma smiled. To her surprise the woman smiled brightly back, melting the rigidity from her young features.

"Hello," the girl greeted. Her voice was slightly rough and shallow.

"Hello," replied Nakoma. "My name is Nakoma."

The girl stretched to grasp Nakoma's hand and shook it politely.

"My name's Drizella."


	8. Festival of Fools

Well, here it is, Chapter 8! Thanks to all my readers; though you are few in number you are great in my eyes! =) R&R, pretty please!

Chapter Eight: Festival of Fools

"So, what is bringing you to Paris?" Nakoma asked curiously after she'd settled into her seat.

"Oh, I'm just staying with a friend for a while," replied Drizella. She wouldn't meet Nakoma's gaze, although she tried her best to keep her answer nonchalant. Nakoma had only known the girl for a couple of minutes, but it was obvious that there was another reason hidden in her words.

"May I ask why?" Drizella glanced up, seeming a little surprised, but quickly returned her gaze to the carpeted floor with a blush.

"I-I don't want to talk about it," she said. An awkward tension filled the cabin. She began to shuffle her feet, while Nakoma stared hard out the window.

"I'm going to see the cathedral," Nakoma said after a moment or so. She fingered the crucifix she wore around her neck and smiled gently. "It's my newfound dream."

"Wow," said Drizella. She smiled as well. "That's a good dream to have."

The two women fell silent, but the lack of conversation was no longer awkward. Nakoma busied herself with studying the buildings that passed before her eyes. This entranced her for a few moments, but she soon found herself nodding off. The horses' hooves created a dull, monotonous rhythm that slowly and subtly lulled her into a light doze. She didn't fight it and let herself sink into unconsciousness.

"Whoa!" The call of the driver startled her awake. Glancing across the cabin, she noticed that Drizella was soundly asleep and slumped over her solitary bag on the seat.

She gasped, though, when she directed her gaze out the window. She'd never seen so many colors in one place in her life, except for perhaps in Pocahontas' English wardrobe. There were tents in yellows, purples and greens, streamers and banners in garish pinks and oranges, and people dressed in garments that seemed to be made from a combination of all these materials. There were men standing on long, wooden poles, walking about haphazardly, men with painted faces and men doing complex flips, men juggling and performing tricks, and men running about everywhere tooting on pipes and strumming on strange stringed instruments.

It took her a moment to grasp a fact that had amazed her even more. They were all standing in the courtyard of the majestic Notre Dame cathedral, which towered forgotten and lonely above the festive scene. Nakoma frowned as she recalled Captain Lewis' remark about the 'dusty old cathedral'. Turned out he was right after all. She couldn't properly appreciate Notre Dame until the Festival was over.

"You can get out now," the driver prompted snobbishly. "I have places to go too, you know."

Nakoma shot him a glare that he didn't see, and then reached across the cabin to nudge Drizella, who woke with a start.

"We're here," Nakoma said gently, "and the driver wants us out."

Drizella made a face and grabbed her pack.

"How rude!" She reached for the door and stepped out, but just as abruptly stopped. Her mouth hung open in astonishment, just as Nakoma's had when she'd viewed the scene from the window.

"Sorry, I forgot to prepare you," Nakoma said with a chuckle as she stepped out of the cabin.

"Nothing could prepare me for this," Drizella replied when she'd regained her composure. The coach rolled away behind them; there was no other way to go now but forward.

"Shall we?" Nakoma asked, holding out her arm. Drizella took it and inhaled deeply.

"We shall."

The music became louder and louder as they approached the many tents and booths set up in the courtyard. They were stunned into an awed silence, but that didn't last for long. Soon they were both pointing out exhibits, such as a juggler or a magician, and laughing at the many displays of comedy and merriment. There seemed to be no organization to the chaos, but there was an underlying rhythm to it all that Nakoma couldn't explain.

Eventually they stumbled across a puppet show.

"I used to love these when I was small," Drizella said excitedly. "Well, when Mother would let us watch them."

Nakoma glanced at the woman; she'd detected a hint of whatever had been troubling her earlier in her last words. But she was staring determinedly now at the puppeteer, and Nakoma decided to drop it and do the same.


	9. The Bells of Notre Dame

Hello there! Well, here's Chapter Nine, and I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to all my readers who ask me to keep posting; you are my motivation! =D And thanks be to God; without Him nothing is possible!

_Chapter Nine: The Bells of Notre Dame_

Drizella examined the puppeteer, not quite sure what to make of him. He was dressed in alternating patterns of yellow, magenta and purple, and he wore a mask and wide- brimmed hat, giving him a clownish appearance. Moderate length black hair jutted out from under his hat, and his goatee was pointed, making him look more like a devil than a person.

"Welcome all to the Feast of Fools!" the man cried, making a wide gesture with his hands. His voice was like a trilling bell, garnering attention wherever it was heard. The children—which happened to be the majority of his audience—all cheered loudly and jumped up and down. The puppeteer's gaze swept over them and landed on Drizella and Nakoma; his eyes widened slightly but his mouth twisted into a smirk, enhancing the rogueish air he had about him. "Well, it's not often that I have such lovely guests!" He then produced a puppet resembling himself; it 'looked' at them and gave a low whistle.

"Why, hello there, ladies," it said in its high-pitched puppet voice. Drizella blushed and giggled as the puppeteer scolded it.

"Now, now, silly boy, you know better!" His expression suddenly grew quite serious as he turned to address the children. "With such rare guests, do you all suppose I should tell a story as special as they are?"

The children cheered in response; the puppet chimed in with an "Oh, boy!" that the man quickly stifled with a glare. His demeanor became hushed and mysterious as he motioned for the children to gather in around him. Drizella and Nakoma crept closer as well and leaned in to hear.

"Every morning in Paris, what does the city awake to? Why, the bells of Notre Dame! Every citizen of Paris, what do they work to?" He cupped his hand over his ear to hear the response.

"The bells of Notre Dame!" cried the children.

"There are big bells as _loud_ as the thunder, and little bells _soft _as a psalm…" The way his voice rose and fell with the sentence sent shivers up Drizella's arms. He fixed his audience with an imperative gaze. "And some say the soul of the city is the toll of the bells…"

"The bells of Notre Dame!" As if on cue the bells began to ring, filling the courtyard with their pure, strong tones. Nakoma gasped and looked with wonder toward the bell tower.

"Aren't they beautiful?" the puppeteer asked, appearing suddenly between the two women. Drizella nodded while Nakoma continued to stare awestruck at the tower. "So many different sounds, so many changing moods. But they don't do that all by themselves."

"They don't?" asked his puppet-self incredulously. He gave it a condescending glare.

"Of course not, you silly boy!" He leapt in front of Nakoma and pointed to where she was staring. "Up there, high in that tower, lives the mysterious bell ringer. Many of us have wondered: Who is that creature?"

"Who?" echoed the puppet.

"What is he?"

"What?"

"How did he come to be here?"

"How?"

"Hush!" said the puppeteer sharply, "and Clopin will tell you."

_So that's his name, _Drizella remarked silently. _Clopin._

The man called Clopin made his way back to his theater box and leapt inside.

"It is the tale, the tale of a man and a monster!" He put down his puppet and gathered them all in close. He then began to sing in a strong tenor vibrato. "_Dark was the night when our tale was begun on the docks of Notre Dame_." His singing added depth to the story; already Drizella was entranced. "_Four frightened gypsies slid silently under the docks of Notre Dame. But a trap had been laid for the gypsies, and they gazed up in fear and alarm at a figure whose clutches were iron as much as the bells_—"

"Judge Claude Frollo!" one of the children cried as Clopin pulled out a puppet dressed all in black.

"_The bells of Notre Dame_," he finished, and then continued, "_For Judge Frollo longed to purge the world of vice and sin, and he saw corruption everywhere except within_."

"That's awful!" Drizella whispered to Nakoma. Nakoma gave a small nod, her brow furrowed thoughtfully.

"Though I'll have to hear both sides of the story before I take this man's word for it," she replied. Drizella didn't press any further and turned back to Clopin's tale.

" 'Bring these gypsy vermin to the Palace of Justice', Frollo demanded. And so the guards approached our band of gypsies. 'You there!' he cried to a woman, who was clutching her child wrapped in cloth. 'What are you hiding?' 'Stolen goods, no doubt.' Frollo said. 'Take them from her.' "

There was a long pause; it was obvious he was drawing on the suspense.

"She ran!" Everyone gasped, Drizella and Nakoma included. "But Judge Frollo wasn't about to let her go so easily. He chased her on horseback, down the streets, into the alleys, between houses and buildings, until she dashed up the steps of Notre Dame and pounded on the doors. 'Sanctuary!' she cried desperately. 'Please give us sanctuary!' But Judge Frollo was fast approaching, and she ran to the other doors. Before she could reach them, he stopped his steed beside her and wrenched the bundle out of her arms, kicking her onto the cold, hard steps of Notre Dame."

Horrified gasps erupted throughout the little crowd. Nakoma was shaking beside her, though Drizella didn't know why.

"He then unwrapped the bundle and peeked within, and there was a child! 'A baby?' he said, and then took a closer look. 'A monster!' he cried, quickly rewrapping the bundle. For the child was deformed and ugly, and he couldn't bear to look upon it. He glanced about, searching for some way to dispose of it, and seeing a well, he went to it. But just as he was about to drop it, 'Stop!' cried the archdeacon."

The children and the women all heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"At least one church leader has any sort of sense in this story," Nakoma remarked indignantly.

" 'This is an unholy demon,' came Judge Frollo's reply. 'I'm sending it back to hell, where it belongs.' "

"No!" cried the children. But Clopin began to sing again, and they all went silent.

" '_See there the innocent blood you have spilt on the steps of Notre Dame_,' he accused, holding the limp body of the poor gypsy mother. 'I am guiltless,' retorted the Judge. 'She ran, I pursued.' But never to be fazed, the archdeacon went on.'_Now you would add this child's blood to your guilt on the steps of Notre Dame_!' 'My conscience is clear!' replied Frollo. '_You can lie to yourself and your minions. You can claim that you haven't a qualm. But you never can run from, nor hide what you've done from the eyes, the very eyes of Notre Dame_!' "

The children cheered until Clopin resumed the story.

"_And for one time in his life of power and control, Frollo felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul!_ 'What must I do?' he asked the archdeacon, glancing about at the statues staring down at him accusingly. 'Care for the child, raise it as your own,' he replied. 'What?' Frollo demanded incredulously. 'I'm to be saddled with this misshapen—' But he paused as he thought about it. 'Very well. Let him live with you, in your church.' 'Live here? But where?' asked the archdeacon. 'Anywhere. _Just so he's kept locked away where no one else can see_. The bell tower, perhaps. And who knows? Our Lord works in mysterious ways. _Even this foul creature may yet prove one day to be of use to me_.' And Frollo gave the child a cruel name, a name that means 'half-formed'— Quasimodo!"

There was a pause; the entirety of the little audience was silent, with every eye glued upon the puppeteer.

"_Now here is a riddle to guess if you can, sing the bells of Notre Dame_," he sang more cheerfully. "_Who is the monster and who is the man? Sing the bells, bells, bells of Notre Dame_!"

"Wow, he is clever, isn't he?" Nakoma said as he finished the song.

"He's the best storyteller I've ever heard," replied Drizella dreamily. Nakoma gave her a funny look and took her arm.

"Let's go watch something else."


	10. La Esmeralda

Hello to all my darling readers! I've seen my traffic stats skyrocket over the past few days, thanks to you lovelies! =D Thanks for sticking with me, here's Chapter 10!

_Chapter Ten: La Esmeralda_

Nakoma couldn't believe it. She simply couldn't believe it. How could a man that claimed to know God be so cruel? She had to meet this Judge Frollo and get the other side of the story. There was no way that puppeteer was telling the whole truth.

She and Drizella were making their way toward a large, decorated platform as she thought about all this. They hadn't chosen to go in this particular direction, but there was a rather large mass of people they had merged with that were pushing them along.

They filed in with the crowd and found themselves in the second row; they would have an excellent view of whatever was going to happen onstage. To the right of the platform a scary-looking carriage was brought in, accompanied by a group of soldiers on horseback. It was painted black, reminding Nakoma of Clopin's depiction of Judge Frollo, and had several gothic spikes and ornamentations jutting from the top. It was depressing and rather dull, especially compared with the variously colored tents in the area. Farther to the right, a procession of men and women were entering the courtyard, singing a festive song that belied their plain-looking clothes.

"_Come one! Come all! Leave your looms and milking stools, coop the hens and pen the mules! Come one! Come all! Close the churches and the schools, it's the day for breaking rules, come and join the feast…of…_"

"Fools!" cried a brightly colored figure as he slid out from beneath the robe of the leader. Confetti filled the air around him, and he laughed jubilantly.

"Can this get any stranger?" Nakoma said as she nudged Drizella. The other woman was completely focused on the singing figure, though, and didn't turn her way.

"Isn't that Clopin?" she asked. Nakoma shrugged, but as the figure came closer she recognized his crazy hair and beard.

"I guess it is." She turned from Drizella and chose to stare into the distance, becoming lost in her thoughts. She wondered how Mrs. Jenkins was doing back in England, and how Pocahontas was faring with her new love. Nakoma frowned and bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. How she missed Pocahontas! They had been as close as sisters back in Virginia. And Virginia…the tribe, her people, were thousands of miles away, across two seas. She suddenly felt alone in the crowd; there was no one here who really knew her. They knew nothing of her life or where she was from.

Had she been wrong to want this adventure? Maybe she should have just gone back to Virginia instead. She would be safe there, at home and comfortable among her people. But then what would she do? Maybe find a husband and get married, the way the other women did.

_That's not what Pocahontas would do, _she thought firmly. The whole reason she had come to England in the first place was because she had envied Pocahontas' bold and adventurous lifestyle. She hugged herself tight and steeled her will. She would finish out this adventure, and then, if she still wanted to, she would go home. Home at last.

Drizella tugged on her arm and pointed up to the platform, where Clopin launched himself up using the back of a cloaked man near the edge.

"_See the finest girl in France make an entrance to entrance! Dance, La Esmeralda…" _His voice rang into a crescendo as he swung his arm. "_Dance!_" With that he threw something onto the platform; it made him disappear in a cloud of pink smoke and a tall, beautiful girl in a red dress take his place!

The crowd around them went wild, but Nakoma was stunned into silence. She'd never seen anything like it, except for when the elders in her tribe conjured images from the smoke. But this was no image. This was a real, living girl dancing around on the stage! Her voluminous black hair swayed around her as she danced, and her turquoise eyes smoldered with mischief as she pulled a violet, star-studded scarf from her skirts. Quite suddenly she leapt from the platform and dashed across the tables stretching out like spider legs along the courtyard, ending up at the chair of a dark-robed figure.

"It's the judge!" someone next to her hooted. "Esmeralda's dancin' for the judge!" Nakoma looked again and realized it was true! The girl knelt on the wood bench encircling the judge's chair and wrapped the scarf around his neck, pulling him close. But just as she leaned in for the kiss, she slapped his hat down into his face and danced away, leaving the livid judge clutching her scarf. Now back on the platform, she rustled her skirts and twirled to the back, where she did a flip and landed with one leg stretched out in front and the other stretched out in the back. She then winked at the robed man that Clopin had used as a launch pad.

"How did she do that?" Drizella gasped. "Doesn't it hurt?"

Nakoma snorted.

"Apparently not." Esmeralda leapt up and snatched the spear from the hand of a nearby guard, ran to the center of the platform, stabbed it into the floor and swung herself around it, spinning down to the floor rather gracefully. With one hand and leg wrapped around the pole, she posed for the crowd and tossed her hair back with a bright smile. The cheers intensified, and suddenly Clopin was back on the stage, singing and dancing once more.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the piece de resistance! _Here it is, the moment you've been waiting for! Here it is, you know exactly what's in store! Now's the time we laugh until our sides get sore! Now's the time we crown the king of fools!"_ Here he stopped singing and addressed the crowd directly. "You all remember last year's king?"

As if on cue, a large man being carried in a chair through the crowd belched rather loudly. Nakoma wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"_So make a face that's horrible and frightening! Make a face as gruesome as a gargoyle's wing! For the face that's ugliest will be the king of fools!_ Why?" Clopin stretched out, cupping his ear to hear the crowd's response.

"Topsy turvy!" they shouted.

"Ugly folks, forget your shyness!"

"Topsy turvy!"

"You could soon be called 'Your Highness!'"

"What kind of competition is this?" Drizella said, crossing her arms. Nakoma shrugged, watching as Esmeralda pulled the robed man onto the platform with the other contestants, who were all wearing animal masks.

"Seems like these people are pretty backwards to me," Nakoma replied. As the contestants were booed a little goat knocked them off the stage and into a dirty heap on the ground.

"How rude!" Drizella cried. The contestants were all but gone, and suddenly Esmeralda threw off the hood of the robed man and tugged at his face like the others that had been wearing masks. But Esmeralda's festive expression quickly morphed to one of shock when the mask wouldn't come off.

"That's no mask!" a man shouted from behind them in the quiet that followed.

"It's his face!" cried someone else.

"He's hideous!"

"It's the bell ringer from Notre Dame!"

Nakoma saw the man's face, deformed as it was, lose its smile as he looked around at the disgusted crowd. He began to breathe faster, and his large hands crossed and covered his face. Her heart suddenly burned with rage against these people; why should it matter if that was really his face? She had once been vain, in those days when she only had eyes for Kocoum, the tall, handsome warrior of the tribe. But after Pocahontas saved John Smith and he in turn saved her father, she had learned to never again judge someone by their appearance. And this creature was supposedly the victim of a terrible crime, if what the puppeteer had told them was true.

"The poor dear," Drizella whispered, and Nakoma was truly glad then that she had met her. Here was a kindred spirit who shared at least one value with her.

"We should do something." But before she could say another word, Clopin leapt forward in front of the devastated bell ringer and spread his arms to the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, don't panic! We asked for the ugliest face in Paris, and here he is! Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame!" Clopin then placed a festive crown upon the confused Quasimodo's head. The crowd burst into cheers at this, and Nakoma sighed in relief. At least they weren't jeering at him any longer. The crowd suddenly rushed forward, and the two women were pushed out of the way as they gathered Quasimodo up in their arms and paraded him across the courtyard. Nakoma stole a glance toward the judge's seat, remembering Clopin's tale. The black-robed man looked on with a vague expression, somewhere between distaste and apathy. She wondered if he had really killed the bell ringer's mother…but the thought was so troubling that she pushed it aside. If he had done those things, surely he would have been put in jail. Surely he wouldn't have been allowed to continue in the house of God, having committed _murder_! The puppeteer had to have been mistaken.

By now Quasimodo had been placed in the seat of the old king and was being carried to a different stage, which she and Drizella carefully picked their way toward. Once upon the stage Clopin robed him in red and presented him to the crowd. Nakoma saw tears of joy leaking from his eyes, one normal and one half-closed due to a swelling above his eyebrow. She couldn't help but smile with him, and as Clopin handed him a golden scepter and pushed him onto a circular rise on the stage the crowd cheered and chanted his name. Confetti was rained down on him; he smiled and waved at his subjects, and then threw his arms in the air and beamed.

"That was a nice thing they did for him," Drizella said with a smile, waving up at him. "Look at him! Just look at him!" Nakoma did, and despite his apparent ugliness she saw the joy painted on his features. _It's beautiful,_ she thought to herself.

Then suddenly there was something red dripping from his face. The crowd became silent as death, and every eye was fixed on Quasimodo's face.

"Now that's ugly!" a guard said. Another laughed.

"Hail to the king!" he said mockingly, and then threw a tomato, hitting Quasimodo square in the face. Nakoma realized as the red dripping continued that someone had thrown a tomato the first time as well. To her horror, more tomatoes and other vegetables were thrown at him, and before she could figure out what was happening they had roped him around the neck and brought him crashing to his knees. Another rope was hurled and fastened aroundhis left wrist. He struggled against the bonds, ripping his shirt in the process, and managed to yank his captors off of their feet. The townspeople weren't so easily defeated, though. More ropes were produced and hurled, and though he tried to bat them away they found their mark. Two large men jumped up on the stage, finished off the knots and then began to spin the platform while others continued pelting him with produce.

And then, he spoke.

"Master! Master, please! Help me!" His voice was youthful and strong; he couldn't be older than twenty! Nakoma whirled to see what the judge would do. The dark-robed man stared at Quasimodo with widened, angry eyes, but then turned away and folded his hands in resignation.

Nakoma's heart began to race; she knew she had to do something.

"I'm going up there," she told Drizella, and before she could say anything Nakoma dashed nimbly through the crowd, imagining a forest before her instead of people. She felt the townspeople jostling around her, and stumbled once or twice, but made it through and leapt up the stairs. The platform was still spinning, and she grabbed hold of one of the spokes and held tightly, digging her feet into the wood.

Everything suddenly went silent. The platform finally stopped turning, and now Nakoma found herself staring into the eyes of the bell ringer, wide and sad and frightened. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the words. Instead tears rolled down her cheeks, and she reached out to touch his face. He stared at her hand in fear, though, and she drew back. Then his eyes darted up above her; Nakoma turned and looked, too.

It was Esmeralda, only this time she was dressed in a gown of violet and white. She smiled down at Nakoma and touched her shoulder lightly. Then she knelt beside Quasimodo and spoke.

"Don't be afraid." She took the corner of a large violet shawl and brought it close to his face, but he pulled away from her the same way he had from Nakoma. "I'm sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen." Quasimodo simply looked at her, and then let her wipe the tomato juice from his face.

"You! Gypsy girls!" Nakoma and Esmeralda both turned toward the voice; Nakoma's eyes narrowed when she realized it was the judge addressing them. "Get down at once!"

"Yes, your honour," replied Esmeralda respectfully as she stood and wrung the juice from her shawl. "Just as soon as I free this poor creature."

"I forbid it!" spat the judge. Esmeralda bent, yanked a blade from her skirts and sliced the ropes binding Quasimodo, all in one swift motion that elicited a gasp from the crowd. Nakoma crept closer to him and smiled comfortingly, offering her arm to help him stand.

"How dare you defy me!" Judge Frollo cried, pointing accusingly at them. Esmeralda ignored his threats, though, and continued.

"You mistreat this poor boy the same way you mistreat my people." _My people._ So the gypsies were a nation, as were Nakoma's people…she found the revelation comforting. Perhaps there was someone here who would understand her. "You speak of justice, yet you are cruel to those most in need of your help."

"Silence!"

"Justice!" Esmeralda screamed, and helped Nakoma haul Quasimodo to his feet.

"Mark my words, gypsies," snarled Frollo as he pointed accusingly toward them. "You will pay for this insolence."

"Then it appears we've crowned the wrong fool," Esmeralda declared. She bowed mockingly, took the crown from Quasimodo's head, and tossed it. It landed with a jingle on the ground in front of Frollo. "The only fool I see is you."


	11. The Rescue

A/N: Thank you again to all of my wonderful readers! Please be patient with me; each chapter needs lots of time and TLC before it gets eyes. Enjoy the chapter!

_**Chapter Eleven: The Rescue**_

Drizella pushed her way through the crowd, fighting to get close to Nakoma. She couldn't lose her; the young, dark-skinned woman was the only friend she had! As the other girl, Esmeralda, threw the crown toward the judge, she squeezed past the front row of people and shouted up to her.

"Nakoma!" She was holding tightly to Quasimodo's arm and watching the quarrel, but at the sound of her name she turned and stared.

"What are you doing—"

"Captain Phoebus!" shouted the judge. "Arrest them." Drizella spun and watched in horror as the crowd parted behind her to let the captain and his guards through. They began to surround the stage; she glanced around, seeing no way of escape without also abandoning her friend.

"Now, let's see," said Esmeralda from behind her. "One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, so there's ten of you, and two of us. What's a poor girl to do?" She pulled a kerchief from her blouse and began to sob, collapsing onto Nakoma in a fit of tears.

Suddenly an explosion of smoke surrounded the two women, and they disappeared, much like Clopin's trick from before.

"Hey!" Someone grabbed her arm and began tugging her away from the crowd, and she pulled and struggled against them. "Let me go—"

"Hush!" Drizella recognized the voice immediately and stopped struggling. Instead she ran with Clopin toward the tents, dodging frantic townsfolk and skirting Frollo's guards. Once or twice she almost lost him, but soon they were in the safety of the tents. Many of the gypsies were hurriedly packing their wares and booths away. Clopin found an empty tent and ducked inside, pulling Drizella with him.

"I have to help Nakoma!" Drizella blurted as soon as they were inside. "What if they arrest her?"

Clopin sat down and began to laugh, and Drizella considered slapping him.

"Not to worry, she'll be safe with Esmeralda. We gypsies are very good at escaping the law." He winked at her. She smiled halfheartedly, but the doubt must have showed on her face. Clopin's smile faded and he sighed. "I can't promise you that she will be safe, but with Esmeralda there's a very good chance. Just think of what might have happened if I hadn't rescued you, for instance. It was very fortunate that we met before. Otherwise, you might even now be bound and thrown in a cart!"

Drizella shrugged.

"I guess so." An uncomfortable silence filled the tent, and Drizella became lost in her worried thoughts.

"Please, sit down," Clopin said finally, patting the ground in front of him. "You're making me uncomfortable." Drizella knelt and smoothed down her skirts, and then began to pick at her gloves. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her face and clothes with interest. "You're not from Paris, are you?"

Drizella glanced up and shook her head.

"No, I'm from England. My sister is—" Suddenly she stopped; she'd all but forgotten about Cinderella's instructions! It took her only a second to sift through her memory and recall what the princess had told her.

_"I have a good friend there who can take care of you…she's a big hit at the Festival of Fools."_

Had she meant Esmeralda? The gypsy woman was the the only person she'd seen who fit Cinderella's description. And Clopin seemed to know her well. Maybe he could take Drizella to her!

"I only just remembered—I needed to find someone here in Paris who could take care of me for a while. And I think I might know who she is."

"You _might_ know?" Clopin laughed confusedly. "Did you not know who this person was before you came all the way to Paris?"

"Well, no. My sister told me she'd been sworn to secrecy. But she gave me some clues, and one of them was that this woman was a 'big hit' at the Festival."

Clopin's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he scratched his chin.

"You mean to tell me your sister sent you here to look for Esmeralda?"

Drizella nodded.

"That's how it appears to me." Clopin laughed again. "What's so funny?" Drizella crossed her arms and furrowed her brows. Clopin immediately stopped laughing and adopted a more sober expression.

"I didn't mean to offend you, madame," he said. "It just seems…well, it's just so-so unusual. I don't think anything like this has ever happened before. Well, except—" He suddenly stopped, much like Drizella had before.

"Except what?" Drizella leaned forward eagerly, hands pressed to the top of her chest. Clopin shook his head.

"I, too, have been sworn to secrecy," he said, but he couldn't keep the rogueish grin from his lips. Drizella tried to frown, but found she couldn't, not when he was smiling at her like that.

"You're just trying to trick me," she said. Clopin chuckled.

"Perhaps," he said, and then grew serious once more. "Tell me, madam, has your sister ever been to Paris?" Drizella gaped at him.

"How did you know?"

"Family resemblance." Immediately Drizella stood and went for the tent flap.

"Of all the nerve—"

"Madame, wait!" Clopin called, leaping to his feet; the sound of tiny bells jingling filled the tent. She pushed the fabric apart and stepped through, but Clopin caught her hand and pulled her back. "You can't leave. The guards haven't gone."

"Well, I'm not staying here with you!" she cried, wrenching her hand away.

"Please, madame, if you go, I should never forgive myself!" Drizella hesitated, simply out of shock. She turned and studied him; he seemed genuinely concerned. His black-gloved hand stretched out toward her questioningly, and his round black eyes were no longer turned up with laughter but wide with worry.

"And why is that?" she asked, letting the flap close behind her. Clopin visibly relaxed as she did so and returned to his seated position on the floor.

"Please, sit," he said again. Drizella shook her head.

"I prefer to stand." Clopin then stood himself.

"Then I shall stand with you." She couldn't help but chuckle, and Clopin's smile returned.

"Now tell me what that whole speech was about," she pressed.

"Well, part of it was simply to stop you," he admitted. "But another part was the truth. I would never forgive myself if I let you come to harm." Drizella frowned.

"Why such an interest in _my_ well-being?" she asked.

"You were kind enough to pay my booth a visit," he said with a grin. "It is my personal way of…satisfying a debt, if you will." Drizella nodded, but didn't quite understand. Clopin cleared his throat. "Well, think nothing more of it. Now we must discover what connection your sister has with Esmeralda."

"Well, maybe you should tell me," Drizella said. "Since it seems you've seen her here."

Clopin giggled, a curious sound coming from a man.

"I did imply that, didn't I? Clever, clever." He smirked, though, and continued, "But then again, I may not have seen her. I may just be assuming that since you are sisters, you would look similar." So that was the meaning of his comment. It was meant simply to trick her. And it had worked, but with another side effect he hadn't expected. "So, your negative reaction to my comment hinted to me that you do not think yourself similar to your sister at all. Am I right?"

Drizella simply stared at him. This elicited a bigger grin from him.

"You are the cleverest man I've ever met!" she exclaimed. He bowed extravagantly, setting the bells on his tunic to jingling.

"Thank you, madame." Drizella stepped to the middle of the room, where she had been sitting before, and knelt once more. Clopin took his place in front of her.

"Well, I suppose I can tell you what Cind—I mean, my sister told me, since you will find out anyway."  
"Cind…not your sister's entire name, I assume?" Drizella hesitated, but slowly shook her head. "It seems to me that there was a girl called Cindy here in Paris once, who was connected with the gypsies." He smiled at her. "But you must tell me what she looks like."

"Alright, that's easy. She's tall, and thin, and has yellow hair and blue eyes. She would have been wearing a peasant costume, because—" Drizella clamped her hand over her mouth; she'd said too much. She couldn't reveal that Cinderella was the princess. Esmeralda hadn't even known that. It would just confuse them.

"Why would she wear a peasant 'costume?' What would she normally wear?"

"Oh, nicer dresses. She didn't want to get them dirty," Drizella explained hurriedly. Clopin eyed her suspiciously. It was then that she remembered the slip of paper with the strange drawing. She took the pack from her back and dug through it. "She also gave me this. She said Esmeralda had given it to her." After a few seconds she produced the folded parchment and handed it to Clopin. The gypsy took it and opened it out. Almost immediately he refolded it and tucked it into his own pocket. His expression was unreadable, but he leaned forward toward her and fixed her with a wary gaze.

"It may be that what you are telling me is true, madame. But we gypsies cannot be too careful. One false move could end our lives. We have a precarious balance we have to maintain, and if this balance is in danger of being upset…well…we must do what we must do in order to preserve the lives of our people." Drizella sensed the shift in atmosphere, and suddenly she was afraid. He must have noticed, for he moved away and spoke in a gentler tone. "I want to trust you. Everything you have told me about your sister is true. I know you have not deceived me in this. But it could be that you are a spy—sent unwittingly, of course—but still a spy nonetheless."

"But I—"

"You implied that your sister is of higher social standing when you said that she was dressed as a peasant—not a peasant, but dressed like one. Now tell me: what would a noblewoman want with the gypsies, other than to bring an end to them?"

"Not all people are like that," Drizella said. "And Cinderella _was _a peasant once, or at least the equivalent of one. She knows what it's like to have to work. She was forced to work in her own home, and when she finally had a chance at freedom, we almost squandered it for her." She was getting close to tears; she struggled to keep her emotion under control. "We were terrible to her, my mother and my other sister."

"You have another sister?" Clopin asked delicately. Drizella nodded.

"She's married to the baker now. Well, back in our village, anyway."

"And what of Cinderella? And your mother?" Drizella wiped at her eyes.

"Mother is all alone in that mansion now. And Cinderella…" she hesitated, but knew she would have to continue in order to keep his trust. "Cinderella is the future queen of England."

Clopin was silent at this. Drizella sniffled loudly; she couldn't believe she'd just told a complete stranger things she hadn't even told Nakoma.

"What would the queen of England want with the gypsies?" he thought aloud.

"Maybe she just wanted out of those stiff princess clothes. Maybe she wanted to make a new friend. Maybe she just wanted to enjoy Paris. I know I would." Drizella glared at him through misty eyes. "You can't assume that everyone is a murderer."

"Ah, I suppose you're right," said Clopin. "But it is difficult when almost everyone is."

"Well, what of me?" Drizella asked. "Am I a murderer?"

"Of course not."

"How do you know?"

"I see the way you act: toward me and toward your friend. I listen to how you describe your family, I watch your reactions to everything. I wait for the person inside to show themselves, and when it does, that's when I know if I can trust. This is why I question you so thoroughly. It is a habit I cannot afford to break, for it is what keeps us safe."

Drizella realized then that their entire conversation had been Clopin's evaluation of her. She felt so utterly silly and ridiculous that she promptly burst into tears. "Madame?" She covered her face with her hands and sniffed, calming herself enough to speak.

"You've examined everything I've said, haven't you?" she asked. "And I didn't even know it. Tell me: does that make me gullible?"

"No," said Clopin with a smile, "it makes you genuine."


	12. The Bellringer

A/N: This chapter came out a bit faster than my others. My next chapter may take longer. I hope you'll all be patient with me! Also, I'm thinking about starting another fic. Sadly, I'm one of those authors that simply has to have five or six projects going at one time in order to feel productive. I'm not sure which one to start, or if I should start one at all. My list of projects is on my profile page. If you'd like to see one written, you can message me and tell me which one. The one with the most votes wins. They'll all take some significant research and might slow the progress of this fic. If you just want me to continue writing this one without further distraction, that's fine too. Let me know! Well, that's enough of your time taken up. And now, without further ado, please enjoy Chapter Twelve!

_**Chapter Twelve: The Bellringer**_

"Easy, easy. I just shaved this morning." Esmeralda had the soldier pinned to the floor with his own sword, and the look in her turquoise eyes dared him to move. He began to crawl backwards, but she followed him carefully, not letting her guard down for a minute.

"Oh, really? You missed a spot." Nakoma watched this exchange from behind a nearby pillar, praying that God would give Esmeralda the strength to drive him away. Djali, Esmeralda's goat, stood beside her, watching the fight curiously.

"Alright, alright, just calm down. Just give me a chance to apologize."

"For what?" Esmeralda said, loosening her grip on the sword. Suddenly the soldier tripped her, snatched the blade and turned it back on her, sending her tumbling to the floor.

"That, for example."

Esmeralda leapt quickly to her feet."You sneaky son of a—"

"Ah, ah, ah! Watch it—you're in a church." As they came closer to Nakoma's hiding place, Esmeralda surreptitiously reached for a candlestaff and waved her fingers at Nakoma, as if to say, "Get out of here!" But before Nakoma could protest, Esmeralda turned her attention back to the soldier.

"Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?" She grabbed the staff and swung it at the soldier, but he was quick and blocked the swing with his sword.

"Candlelight, privacy, music…" They continued their odd swordfight as the soldier spoke. "Can't think of a better place for hand-to-hand combat." Esmeralda aimed a devastating blow toward his face, but he parried it yet again. "You fight almost as well as a man!"

"Funny," replied Esmeralda. "I was going to say the same thing about you!"

They were far enough from the pillar that Nakoma could sneak through the shadows toward the door. But as she slipped off her shoes and tiptoed out, she knew she couldn't just leave. Esmeralda was in trouble! And what of the bellringer she had helped to rescue? And the kind archdeacon from Clopin's story? Surely they were both here, within these very walls. Maybe they could help.

As she crept along the wall she noticed a stone archway containing a staircase. Perhaps this went up to the belltower. She felt a little thrill race from her toes to the tips of her fingers. This was dangerous, this was risky…but it was also adventurous, and adventure was what she was here for! Despite the danger, she couldn't contain her excited smile as she bounded up the steps.

The narrow staircase curved around itself like a snake and was lit with torches placed in holders on the wall. As the stairs continued up and the noise from below faded Nakoma felt herself losing strength. She had been so pampered in England that she'd lost much of her stamina. Not having to run through forests or paddle in a canoe or climb a tree was taking its toll on her. Still she continued onward, but at a slower pace.

After a few moments Nakoma stopped to catch her breath. The stone seemed endless; just when she thought she must surely be at the top more steps appeared before her. She trudged on for another moment or so before a plain wooden door abruptly marked the end of the staircase.

"Hmm." She tried to imagine where it might lead. She felt she'd climbed high enough to be at the belltower, but then again, she couldn't be sure. Either way, there was no way to go now but through the door, and so she slowly pushed it open.

Sunlight blinded her for a moment. She was afraid to take another step for fear she'd fall from whatever height she'd climbed. As she blinked her surroundings slowly came into focus, and she took a step back from the railing in front of her. The city of Paris spread out beneath her in groups of buildings. The roads looked like narrow, dusty ribbons that cut through the buildings at regular intervals. She'd never seen anything like it before. Right below her, in the courtyard, were the tents from the Festival of Fools. She didn't know where Clopin's tent was, but she was fairly certain that this was the area she'd looked up to when the bells rang out during his story.

After a moment she looked around; there was a railed pathway to her right that ran along the edge of the building, and another path branching off from it behind her that led toward the middle. A tower rose to her right, though, and the path turned inward and led to another wooden door. It looked promising, and so she ran along the corridor, stopping at the doorway.

"Well, this may be it," she said, arching her neck to make out the top of the tower. It certainly seemed high enough, and from what she'd seen of Paris below it fit. She took a deep breath, took the metal handle in both hands and gave a small tug.

The wooden door came open quite easily. As she stepped inside she took in an enormous chamber criss-crossed with wood beams and ropes of all shapes and sizes. In front of her a little ways was a narrow wooden staircase that led up to a secondary level. Slowly she approached it, wondering if she should go on any further. What if Quasimodo found her here and demanded she leave? What if he tried to hurt her? He had pulled several men off of their feet at the Festival, when they had tried to tie him down. She had no doubts about his strength.

"You're on an adventure," she told herself sternly. "Besides, he seemed gentle enough with Esmeralda. He might help us." With that in mind she walked more confidently. Once at the top of the staircase, she looked around again. There were wooden beams everywhere; it made her wonder how many trees had been killed to build them all. Beside her was a ladder leading up to yet another level. Taking a look around first to make sure there was no other way forward, she climbed it as well, but slowed considerably when she neared the top.

Ahead a little ways was a table with what appeared to be tiny buildings on top. Above that, pieces of colored glass hung from the ceiling, throwing their hues all over the floor. She stepped onto the floor and cautiously approached the scene. The closer she came, the more detailed the features on the buildings became. She recognized some as those she'd seen when she stepped off the carriage, though she didn't know exactly what they were. The artistry was amazing; she wondered if Quasimodo had made it all.

Also on the table, she realized as she rounded it slowly, were figurines of people, mostly townsfolk. There were women in their big, round dresses and men in their tunics, some carrying tiny baskets or leading animals on ropes. There was even a flock of sheep, complete with fluffy white wool. She smiled as she reached out to touch one.

"D-don't touch that, please!" She glanced up; the voice had come from in front of her. Up on the next highest level, standing under the shadow of a bell, was the bellringer.

She took a step toward him; his eyes widened and he turned and ran.

"No, please! Wait!" she called after him, searching frantically for the way up. After a few seconds she saw the small ladder halfway concealed behind some draped cloth and scrambled up after him. "I want to talk to you!" She found herself dashing between bells of all shapes and sizes and almost stopped to take in their breathtaking beauty and sheer numbers. But she knew she had to keep running, or Quasimodo would get away. Her eyes latched onto the green of his tunic as he ran along the scaffolding with surprising agility.

He rounded a corner and suddenly skidded to a stop. Nakoma heard him muttering something but was too far away still to make it out. She picked up her speed; this could be her only chance to catch him.

As she approached the corner she slowed and then stopped, bent over and panting. He glanced up at her suddenly, as if just noticing her.

"Why did you run?" she asked between halting breaths. "I just wanted to talk."

"Um, hello," he said, turning as if to leave. "I, uh, have to go now. Erm…bye." He sprinted away with a small groan, and Nakoma immediately resumed the chase.

"Please, come back—" She caught herself hard on her hands and knees with a cry. Glancing back, she saw what had tripped her: a group of stone gargoyles that she'd overlooked in her rush. She straightened and examined her stinging palms; to her chagrin, a splinter had wedged its way into her skin, and blood was oozing around it slowly.

"Are-are you alright?" Quasimodo had turned and taken a few cautious steps back toward her. "You're not hurt, are you?"

Nakoma smiled gently at him.

"No, just a little splinter. I'll be fine. But I do wish you would stay and talk."

Quasimodo's face twisted in indecision. Torn, he glanced from the empty path in front of him, and then back to her, over and over in quick succession.

"I'm just going to make sure you're alright. But I can't let you stay. My master would be angry." He walked slowly toward her, the way Nakoma had seen the English settlers approach wild animals in the forests of Virginia.

"Why would he be angry?" Nakoma asked.

"He doesn't want anyone to see me," he replied as he knelt and gently examined her hand. "I am a monster."

"Who would tell you such a thing?" she demanded in shock, though she knew what his answer would be and dreaded it. Perhaps there was some truth to Clopin's little charade.

"My master, Frollo. He took me in when nobody else would, after my parents abandoned me. He's very kind. But right now he's very angry with me for going to the Festival without his permission." He stood, pulled her to her feet, and beckoned for her to follow.

"I don't think you're a monster," Nakoma said firmly. "Those people at the festival were the monsters. They were so cruel!" Her voice shook with loathing.  
"Oh, but I deserved it," Quasimodo said sadly. "My master warned me that people would hate me if I went outside. He was right. I learned my lesson. I'll never go out there again."

Nakoma stopped, touching his arm gently. With questioning green eyes he turned and regarded her.

"Look at me." She pointed at her face. "Do you see hatred in these eyes?"

Quasimodo looked for a moment and then shook his head, as if clearing smoke from the air.

"But you and Esmeralda are gypsies. Gypsies are supposed to be evil."

Nakoma started and stepped back.

"I'm not a gypsy. But Esmeralda doesn't seem evil to me."

"You don't understand. My master's the only one I can trust. He's the only one who can look at me without flinching. He's…" Quasimodo faltered as Nakoma continued to gaze expectantly at him.

"I think Judge Frollo's wrong about you _and_ Esmeralda. I think you have a beautiful heart. A spirit of adventure. What else could have drawn you out despite your master's warnings?" His expression seemed torn between joy and regret. "The townsfolk are just too shallow to see what lies under the skin. But there is one thing Frollo may have taught you that is correct." Nakoma drew out her little cross from beneath the collar of her dress. Quasimodo eyed it curiously. "If he ever told you there was a God who loves you no matter who you are or what you look like, then he was absolutely right."

"I've never heard that before," Quasimodo said as they continued their trek along the scaffolding. "I know that God can give you things if you pray long enough and in the right way."

"What is his problem?" Nakoma wondered aloud, shaking her head. She began to pick at the sliver of wood stuck in her palm. "No man of God would call someone a monster."

Quasimodo didn't reply; he kept his eyes straight ahead, though his brows were furrowed in confusion.

"He's my master. I have to obey him. That's all I know."

They walked in a tense silence until they reached the room with his wooden carvings. "Let me get that splinter out for you," Quasimodo said, reaching for her hand. Nakoma smiled and showed it to him.

"I picked it out while we were walking. Sorry I didn't tell you."

"Well, here. Wash your hands." He led her to a little bowl and picked up a pitcher. "It'll get the dirt out of the cut." She did as he suggested and let him wrap a small strip of cloth over the wound.

"Thank you," she said. "I wish I could give you something in return."

"You helped me at the Festival," Quasimodo reminded her. They smiled at each other for a moment until his faded. "I have chores to do now. You should go."

"I can't," Nakoma said. "Esmeralda's still down there with the captain. He didn't seem like he wanted to hurt her, but it could be a trap." She looked expectantly at him. "I was wondering if you would help."

"If she's in here she would have claimed sanctuary," Quasimodo said. Nakoma was confused.

"What's 'sanctuary?'"

"It means as long as she's in the church no one can arrest her or hurt her. I would have thought you claimed sanctuary, too."

"But I'm not a gypsy," Nakoma said again.

"It's not just for gypsies," explained Quasimodo. "It's for anyone who needs it. And my master thinks you're a gypsy. I don't know why. You're not dressed like one." Quasimodo examined her. "But you don't look like the townsfolk, either."

Nakoma frowned.

"It must be my skin. It's darker than everyone here. I'm not from here, anyway. I come from a land a long way across the sea. It took me several months altogether to get here."

"That's exciting! You should tell me about it. I've never heard of anywhere except France." Quasimodo's eyes were lit up with something like wonder.

"But what about Esmeralda?" Nakoma glanced down at the floor. "Shouldn't I at least check on her?"

"You might get caught," Quasimodo said. "You haven't claimed sanctuary, you know."

"Well, if I do get caught, I can just claim sanctuary then, right?" Quasimodo thought about it for a moment.

"I don't know. It would be a risk. I will go down with you, but I'll hide so my master won't see me. If there is no one down there I might be able to help you both escape."

"Thank you," Nakoma said, grasping his hand. "You are truly a good man."

Quasimodo smiled shyly and beckoned her toward the door.


	13. God Help The Outcasts

_**A/N:**_ Sorry this chapter took so long to come out. I've been hard at work on my novel and actually had to make time for this while at work. Hope you guys enjoy! Hopefully the next chapter won't take a month. =P Thanks in advance for reading, and, if it's not too much trouble, I'd love a good review or any questions or comments you might have. =D

_**Chapter Thirteen: God Help The Outcasts**_

"Who are you?" Drizella glanced timidly at the guard in front of the cathedral door, and then stared down at her feet.

"My name's Drizella," she said softly. "I just want to come in and pray and get out of the rain."

The guard studied her for a moment, decided she wasn't a threat, and let her in. As she passed through the heavy wooden doors her eyes struggled to adjust to the massive, dimly lit room within. Gray sunlight filtered through the windows and stretched along the floor in even intervals, and where the room was in shadow candles flickered and gleamed in golden candlestaves. The door shut with a ominous 'bang' behind her; she looked back, wondering if Clopin had been right about Esmeralda coming here. What would happen if she was nowhere to be found? Would Drizella be trapped in here? How would she find Clopin or Nakoma again? She shuddered as she imagined herself hopelessly wandering the streets of Paris late at night. There was no guarantee that Clopin would save her again.

As the echo from the door faded Drizella heard something else. It sounded like singing, but it was so far away that she couldn't be sure. Steeling herself, she moved forward into the belly of the church. The sound was drawing closer; it was definitely singing, and it was coming from a woman. She slowed as the song enveloped her, ringing through the cathedral pleasantly. As she passed the pillar in front of her the hall widened, and standing in the light from a great colored-glass window was Esmeralda. Her arms were thrown to the sky, her eyes pleading and humble as she half-sung, half-prayed the last words of her song:

"_God help the outcasts, children of God._"

Drizella stood perfectly still, not daring to breathe and break the spell of the song. She had only caught the last words, but she knew this woman had just poured out her heart and was begging for help in the only place she could. She didn't really know if God was real, or what He was even like. Religion had never been a major topic with her family. Regardless, it gave people something to put their faith in, and she hoped that this would give Esmeralda the encouragement she needed.

"You! Bellringer! What are you doing down here?" Drizella whirled toward the voice; one of the parishioners was pointing toward a pillar to her right, where Quasimodo and Nakoma were standing. The bellringer gasped and jumped, sending a candlestaff tumbling to the floor with a loud, metallic crash. "Haven't you caused enough trouble already?"

Quasimodo turned and ran toward an obscure stone archway; Nakoma quickly followed him.

"Wait!" cried Esmeralda, picking up her skirts as she ran. Her goat bleated in alarm and ran after her. "I want to talk to you!"

Drizella, seeing no other option, chased the trio through the arch and up a long series of winding stone stairs. Once or twice Esmeralda threw a curious glance over her shoulder, but Drizella was too out of breath to do anything but offer a lopsided smile. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, and her face was covered in a film of sweat by the time they reached the top of the stairs. Still the party kept moving, and she forced herself to persevere with the thought of what she would face if she lost them.

After climbing more steps than she could count and running along rooftop corridors, they finally, blessedly, stopped in a large room criss-crossed by ladders and wooden platforms.

"You all have to go back!" Quasimodo turned and faced them, face red from the strain of running. "My master would be furious if he knew you were here."

"You said you would help us!" Nakoma said.

"That was when I didn't have three of you chasing me. There's no way I can sneak all of you out!"

"There would be no way, even with your help," Esmeralda said with a frown. "Frollo has a guard at every door. We can't escape." She turned then to Nakoma. "And I thought I told you to run while you had the chance!"

Nakoma shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

"I wanted to see if I could find some help."

Esmeralda smiled softly.

"I appreciate it, I really do. But now both of us are trapped in here."

A strange silence enveloped them; Drizella glanced from Esmeralda to Nakoma and finally to Quasimodo, who seemed at a loss.

"And who are you?" The bellringer met Drizella's gaze.

"This is my friend, Drizella," Nakoma said.

"I'm sorry for what they did to you," Drizella said to him. "I wish there was something more I could have done to help you."

Quasimodo looked away and smiled.

"It's alright. I feel better knowing there are people who care, anyway." The scared look returned to his eyes. "You all should go. My master could come back any minute."

"He went with some of the guards," Esmeralda said. There was something in her voice, something like malice—or fear. "I don't think he'll be back soon."

"Please let us stay," Nakoma begged. "We can't get out of here anyway. You said so yourself. We're stuck here."

Quasimodo looked at all three of them and gave a sigh of defeat.

"Alright. But only for a little while. And then you have to go somewhere else. Frollo can't see you all up here!"

The three girls smiled at one another.

A few moments later found all four of them gathered around Quasi's carving table. Drizella fingered the intricate designs on the small model of the cathedral, while Esmeralda picked up two unpainted sculptures and examined them thoroughly.

"Oh, no, please!" Quasimodo cried. "I'm not finished…I still have to paint them."

"It's the blacksmith…and the baker!" Esmeralda giggled. "You're a surprising person, Quasimodo. And not to mention lucky." She gestured around them. "All this room to yourself!"

"Well, it's not just me. There's the gargoyles, and, of course, the bells." His eyes lit up. "Would you all like to see them?"

"Yes, of course," replied Esmeralda. Drizella and Nakoma nodded their agreement. "Wouldn't we, Djali?"

The goat slurped something into his mouth and looked sheepishly up at them.

"Follow me. I'll introduce you."

The three ladies were familiarized with the dames of the bell tower: Little Sophia; the three 'Maries', Jean Marie, Ann Marie and Louise Marie; and then finally 'Big Marie', an enormous bell all four of them (and Djali, too) could stand beneath.

"Hello!" cried Esmeralda. Her voice reverberated richly within the bell.

"She likes you," Quasi said. "Would you like to see more?"

"Yes, please!" Drizella said.

"How about it, Djali?" Esmeralda turned to her goat, who belched from beneath Big Marie. The sound echoed back as the little creature gazed around the inside of the bell with curiosity. The girls chuckled. "We'd love to," Esmeralda said.

"Good." Quasi smiled. "I've saved the best for last!" He led them outside onto a railed terrace overlooking the city. The sunlight sparkled on the ripples of the Seine as it wound its way through the city and illuminated the buildings beautifully from behind. Drizella forced her mouth closed and took a deep breath as a breeze swept past, whipping her hair back from her face. It felt wonderful, free and pure and new and sprinkled with the scents of warm bread and fresh fruit.

"I bet the king himself doesn't have a view like this," Esmeralda said, leaning on the railing. "I could stay up here forever."

"It is pretty amazing," Nakoma agreed.

"You could, you know," Quasi said in response to Esmeralda.

"No, I couldn't," she said. The smile faded from her face as another breeze tossed her long black locks back.

"Oh, yes, you have sanctuary," he reminded her.

"But not freedom." Her voice suddenly darkened and her eyes grew distant as she turned from the railing. "Gypsies don't do well inside stone walls."

"But you're not like other gypsies. They're…" Quasi searched for the word and said it cautiously, "Evil."

"Who told you that?" Her voice was soft but her gaze was filled with anger and confusion. They sat together on the stone floor of the terrace.

"My master, Frollo. He raised me."

Esmeralda's anger melted and was replaced with pity.

"How could such a cruel man have raised someone like you?"

"Cruel?" Quasi shook his head. "Oh, no. He saved my life. He took me in when no one else would. I am a monster, you know."

The way he said those words, so nonchalantly, broke Drizella's heart. He'd obviously been fed those words for as long as he could remember. They were a lie meant to keep him inside and afraid of the outside world. While she could admit that there were those who would and did hate him because of his appearance, there were also those who could show him kindness and compassion. People like them.

"He told you that?" Esmeralda demanded.

"Look at me," Quasi said, gesturing to himself. Esmeralda ignored him and pointed to his hand.

"Give me your hand," she said, grabbing it before he could protest.

"Why?"

"Just let me see." Drizella and Nakoma both watched curiously as she traced the lines on his palm. "Hmm…a long life line…oh, and this one means you're shy. Hmm. Hmm, hmm, hmm. Well, that's funny."

"What?" Quasi seemed frightened.

"I don't see any."

"Any what?" Quasi asked, staring in dread at his hand.

"Monster lines." She looked up meaningfully into his eyes. "Not a single one." She held out her hand to him. "Now you look at me. Do you think I'm evil?"

"No, no, no!" he said, catching her hand between his. "You are good, and kind, and—"

"And a gypsy," she said. "And maybe Frollo's wrong about the both of us."

Quasi was stunned. Drizella and Nakoma came and knelt by his side.

"I'll say," said Nakoma. "Besides, he called me a gypsy when I'm quite obviously an Algonquin."

Esmeralda chuckled.

"I've never even heard of that word."

"Me, either," said Drizella.

"But really, Quasi, we're here to say we care about you," Nakoma said. "We all know how it feels to be unwanted or the person who's always left out of everything." Her eyes moistened a little. "My best friend was the one everyone talked about. She was so beautiful and so free-spirited, and she even saved our village from war and found someone she really loved. She had everything, but I was always the one in the background. No one really cared what happened to me."

"That's terrible," Quasi said.

"But I'm glad it happened," she continued with a watery smile. "Otherwise I would have never found my way here and met you."

"Yes," added Drizella. "I had a beautiful stepsister who'd lost her father very young. Our mother put her to work, and my sister and I just went along with it. Mother wanted to marry us off to the prince someday, and I knew that she thought our stepsister would be a threat to her plans." She debated on whether or not to use Cinderella's name, but decided since she'd already told Clopin it wouldn't hurt to tell Esmeralda. "But Cinderella still ended up with the prince after everything we put her through. When my sister finally realized how mean she had been to her, Cinderella forgave her and she fell in love with a baker. Then I was the only one left." She sniffled and wiped at her nose, trying desperately not to cry. "It didn't take me very long to realize that I didn't want to be a pawn in Mother's desperate game. So I ran away. Cinderella and Anastasia found me and helped me get here. So I'm an outcast, too."

"God help the outcasts," Nakoma said, casting her gaze to the heavens. Esmeralda smiled.

"Yes."

Drizella suddenly remembered what the princess had told her to do and turned to Esmeralda.

"I need to talk to you!"

The gypsy raised an eyebrow.

"That was a sudden change of subject," she remarked.

"I know, but I only just remembered. Cinderella told me I had to find you." Noticing Esmeralda's look of alarm she quickly added, "She didn't tell me your name, only that you were a 'big hit' at the Festival. She thought I'd be safe with you."

"Did she, now?" Esmeralda said after a moment, and then laughed. "I was starting to wonder when I would hear of little Cindy again."

"You remember her!" Drizella exclaimed with relief. "I was afraid I'd have to explain the whole thing all over again."

"Wait. You've told someone else?"

"Yes, Clopin. He rescued me earlier and I talked to him about it. I thought perhaps he could bring me to you." She pulled Cinderella's purple pouch out of her dress, but then remembered. "He took the drawing, or I would have that to show you, too."

Esmeralda shook her head.

"That Clopin. He's always so cautious and ready to jump to a bad conclusion." She beamed at Drizella. "But I believe you. I never knew she had sisters."

"Well, none by blood. I wish I'd been a better sister." She frowned. "We could have been good friends."

"By the sound of it, you are now," Esmeralda said. More gently she added, "We can't keep hurting ourselves with the past. Focus on the present and what you have now."

Drizella nodded.

"I guess you're right." Esmeralda heaved a sigh.

"I just wish I could help you. I'd love to take you in. But it looks like we're stuck here." She folded her arms over her knees and rested her head there.

"You helped me," Quasi said after a moment, standing and pulling the women to their feet. "Now I will help you."

"What do you mean?" Drizella asked.

"I can help you get out of here," he said.

"But there's no way out," Esmeralda reminded him. "There's soldiers at every door."

"We won't use a door," he replied matter-of-factly.

"You mean…climb down?" said Esmeralda. Drizella eyed the railing dubiously.

"Sure. You carry him," he said, gesturing at Djali, "and I carry you two."

"You can do that?" Drizella asked incredulously. She then recalled the Festival, where he'd pulled several men off of their feet, and realized he was more than capable of handling their weight. "But how will you climb?"

"You just hang on to me so I can use my arms."

"Okay," said Esmeralda. "Come on, Djali." The goat leapt into her arms, and she wrapped a scarf around his eyes.

"Ready?"

"Yes," replied Esmeralda. Drizella could only nod; her heart was caught in her throat already.

"Don't be afraid," he said as he scooped Esmeralda up and stooped so Drizella could clamber up on his back.

"I'm not afraid," Esmeralda said coolly. Drizella whimpered and clung to his neck. He took a sudden leap from the railing and dangled from the side by one arm. Djali's blindfold fluttered off and down to the city streets below; the goat bleated in fear and scrambled up onto Esmeralda's shoulder. Esmeralda herself was hanging precariously over Quasi's shoulder, her torso laying adjacent to Drizella's.

"Now I'm afraid," she said.

"The trick is not to look down," Quasi replied, and began to run along the gargoyle heads jutting from the side of the cathedral.

"You've done this before?" Esmeralda asked in wonder.

"No," said Quasi casually. Drizella was quite certain that at any moment Quasi would slip and send all three of them crashing to their doom. Esmeralda let out a gasp and then a nervous moan, obviously thinking the same thing.

He leapt, finally came to a stop on an angled roof and took deep breaths.

"Wow," Esmeralda said, patting his back. "You're quite an acrobat."

Drizella nodded, but she had no desire to repeat the experience.

"Thank you—" The roof tile they were standing on suddenly broke free, and they went sliding down the roof with sparks flying in their wake. Drizella let out a startled cry; to her dismay, Quasi was yelling, too. Apparently this hadn't been planned. They suddenly hit the roof of a window and went sailing into open air, only to land on a drain canal and skim along its edge. Drizella closed her eyes, knowing it was all going to end here.

But suddenly they'd stopped, and she heard a metallic crash in the background and the shout of guards. Peeking out, she saw that Quasi had caught the head of another gargoyle and they were dangling again. They abruptly dropped again, in between two gables and then again at the foot of a statue near the ground. Drizella thought the stone road had never looked so beautiful as she slid off of Quasi's back.

"Quick! Hide!" Esmeralda whispered fiercely. Quasi pulled her up to the top of the statue and ducked down; Esmeralda stood and posed as part of the statue, pressing her hands together and looking skyward. The guards passed with their torches, never the wiser. As the torchlight left them they clambered down to the bottom of the statue and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I hope I didn't scare you," Quasi said.

"Not for a minute," Esmeralda replied with a soft smile. Drizella smiled too but couldn't bring herself to lie. Neither could Djali, who groaned pitifully.

"Next time, I think I'd rather fight the guards," she said. The trio laughed.

"I'll never forget you, Esmeralda," Quasi said. "And you too, Drizella."

Esmeralda turned his face to her.

"Come with us!" she said. Her eyes were round with delight.

"What?"

"To the Court of Miracles. Leave this place!"

"Oh, no. I'm never going back out there again." He gestured dismissively toward the city. "You saw what happened to me today. No. This is where I belong."

"Alright, then we'll come to see you."

"What? Here? But the soldiers, and Frollo, and…"

"We'll come after sunset."

"At sunset I ring the evening mass, and after that, I clean the kooisters, and then I ring the vespers, and—" Esmeralda cut him off with a short peck on the cheek. Drizella was as stunned as Quasimodo looked. "Whatever's good for you."

Esmeralda pulled a small object from around her neck. With a start Drizella realized it looked just like the drawing. Esmeralda winked at her and handed it to Quasi.

"If you ever need sanctuary, this will show you the way."

"But how?" Quasi asked, examining it warily.

"Just remember," Esmeralda said mysteriously. "When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand."


	14. Heaven's Light & The Court of Miracles

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this chapter took SOOOO long. I've caught up to myself with writing and posting and so after I post this one I'll have to start right on Chapter 15. I'm actually at band camp right now so it may be another little while before the next chapter is posted. Hope you all are still interested! I DO want to finish this story...=D Thank you all for reading, my beautiful viewers! =)

_**Chapter Fourteen: Heaven's Light/The Court of Miracles**_

Nakoma leaned out over the railing for the millionth time, quite sure that she'd lost her new friends forever. Tears blurred her vision, and she furiously blinked them away; they were doing nothing but hindering her. She'd heard their yelling earlier and a loud crash; if by some miracle they hadn't been killed, they would surely be caught. But she'd heard no more shouts from the guards or any other sound for some time now.

"God, please help them," she whispered. "If they're alive, let me know—"

Bells rang out in the night and bombarded her ears; she covered them and followed their sound into the tower, thanking God silently. As she retraced her steps back to Quasi's candle-lit room the bells faded away slowly, though their echo still filled the room.

"Oh, there you are. I almost forgot." Nakoma whirled toward the voice to see Quasi climbing down a ladder. He jumped and landed on the floor with all the elegance of a cat. "You can stay here tonight. I know a place where Frollo won't find you."

"All this time I thought you were dead!" Nakoma said, letting her shoulders slump with relief. "I heard screaming earlier and then that crash…how did you do it?"

"Well, we had a couple of close calls," the bellringer said with a grin. His expression was one of pure bliss. "We sure got lucky."

"God was with you, that's for sure," she said. "He answered Esmeralda's prayer from earlier and protected you."

Quasi nodded and smiled; his joy seemed to make the room glow. Nakoma couldn't help but smile with him. Her relief at seeing him alive and gratitude to God added to the radiance until she could have sworn the tower was filled with heaven's light.

"Everyone, meet our new friend, Drizella! She's here seeking refuge, and at the request of her sister and our friend Cindy I ask that we make her welcome here."

Drizella stared back at the dark, dubious faces of the gypsies and felt her own face flushing. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she'd have been better off at home with her mother—

_No,_ she thought firmly. _Anything is better than that. _

"Ah, madame, I'd hoped we'd meet again!" She turned toward the familiar voice to see Clopin striding toward her. "Let me just have a moment with Esmeralda…" He pulled the gypsy to the side and talked quietly with her while the others continued to stare and then began to mutter amongst themselves. Drizella felt her heart sink, looked down at her feet and tried to fight the urge to run. She didn't know what to do with herself, and the strange environment and cold dark eyes of the gypsies only made it worse. She had thought maybe Clopin would rescue her again, but now he was distracted, leaving her at the mercy of those questioning glares.

The pair came back a few seconds later, much to Drizella's relief. They stood one on each side of her and took her hands, raising their arms into the air.

"She will become one of us!" Clopin announced brightly. The court was silent and Clopin's smile began to fade.

Cheers erupted quite suddenly from a few of the tents and spread like fire throughout the gypsies until the noise became a deafening roar. Clopin and Esmeralda cheered with them and, before she knew what was happening, four of the women had whisked her off to a tent.

"How do you like this one?" one of them asked, holding out a violet gown.

"No, she'd look better in this one," said another. As the women bickered Drizella backed herself into a corner to wait for the madness to end.

"Ladies, please," Esmeralda said as she slid into the tent. "Let's just let her pick out what she wants. _In peace,_" she added, for the women were staring blankly at her. At her command, though, they all filed out, grumbling and muttering to themselves. Esmeralda flashed Drizella an apologetic smile. "Sorry about them. They're always so excited about visitors."

"Why do I have to change my clothes?" Drizella asked, hugging herself tightly. It seemed she couldn't get away from being treated like a dress-up doll.

"It's so you'll blend in with us. We can't have you sticking out if we go out in public. It would draw too much attention to us."

_You don't need me to draw attention,_ Drizella thought dryly, thinking of the Festival. But she followed Esmeralda to the open chest and began to sort through the haphazardly-bundled dresses.

"Don't you have anything…plain?" Drizella asked, holding up a gown festooned with ribbons and beads.

"We_ despise_ plain," Esmeralda said, making a face. "If we dressed and acted like everyone else, we wouldn't be gypsies, now would we?"

Drizella sighed and continued to pick her way through the clothing. Finally she stumbled upon a dark blue gown devoid of decoration. She held it up to her chest; it fell halfway down her calves and felt light and soft against her skin.

"I think I like this one," she said. Esmeralda stood; her eyes lit up and she smiled.

"Good choice. Now we just have to spruce it up a little."

"Do we _have _to?" Drizella whined.

"Only a little," Esmeralda said innocently.

By the time they were finished Drizella felt as if she was wearing a tent. Along with the gown came the proper white underdress and bloomers, of course. But on top of that came sash after sash in deep violets and greens and lighter shades of blue, and belts with silver coins that jingled cheerily when she moved. To finish it off, Esmeralda had combed through Drizella's thin hair, somehow making it seem fuller, and tied some of it back with little ribbons so that most of her hair still hung free around her neck.

"There. Perfect," Esmeralda said as she pulled the bow tight. She pushed Drizella in front of a mirror and stepped back. "What do you think?"

Drizella examined herself with wonder. She looked nothing like herself. This was so much different than the way her mother had dressed her. It was looser, more free, and even somewhat childish. She decided that she liked the way the sashes hugged her waist and the way the ribbons trailed and floated as she turned her head and the clinking of the little coins draped over her hip. It was new, different. Yet somehow deep within her she knew this wasn't her.

"I like it. But I would probably do with less sashes."

"Well, just keep everything you're wearing with you. We'll find you another dress to switch into sometimes." Esmeralda beamed. "Now, let's go show you off!"

Drizella cringed.

"Please, don't say that," she said. Confused, Esmeralda glanced at her.

"I'm sorry. Um, let's see…let's go…introduce you to everyone."

Drizella smiled a little.

"That's better."

As they pulled aside the flap of the tent the muttering outside stopped and all eyes turned to them, or more accurately, to Drizella. On catching sight of her the muttering morphed to exclamations of awe and delight; she caught Clopin's appreciative gaze and found herself blushing fiercely.

"A different look for you, yes," he said as he approached her. "But still as lovely as ever."

"Oh, stop it," Drizella said, forcing her gaze to the ground, though she couldn't hide the pleased smile on her face. Maybe she could learn to love the gypsy life. With the way he was smiling at her now, she thought, it was definitely worth a try.


	15. The Statues Have Eyes

A/N: Oh. My. Goodness. You guys just don't even know how happy I am to finally publish this. I hope this will find you all still in some state of interest in this story. Thank you all for the continued traffic, and please, please forgive this HUGE lapse between chapters. I promise I will try my darndest not to let this happen again. Beautiful, _beautiful_ readers, please enjoy. =))))

_**Chapter Fifteen: The Statues Have Eyes**_

"So, your new world. What's it like?"

Nakoma chewed on her lip as she thought. How could she possibly describe Jamestown in a way that he would understand? Here in Paris buildings and streets were as common as the trees and rivers of home.

"Well, there are a lot more trees," she said with a chuckle. "And hardly any buildings at all."

"No!" said Quasi, eyes round in disbelief. "How do you travel?"

"We use canoes on the river. Or we just walk."

"No carts or coaches or anything?"

Nakoma shook her head.

"We don't have roads. We have foot-paths through the forest."

"Foot-paths…" He stumbled over the words, and she could tell by the way his eyes were narrowed thoughtfully that he was trying to conjure an image for himself. "I don't—"

Something broke and shattered in the background, and they both whirled toward the source. Night had already fallen, and the flickering candle-light casting jerky shadows did nothing to soothe Nakoma's nerves, now raw and alert. What if it was that horrid minister, Frollo? What would he do if he caught her here?

Quasi glanced quickly at her, turning one of his ears toward the source, and then held up a hand. "Stay here," he mouthed, "and don't move." She nodded and crept backwards into the shadow of a ragged curtain while he disappeared silently down the ladder and into the distant darkness. The quiet was thick enough that she could hear her panicked heartbeat throbbing inside her head. Quasi was gone a minute, _two_ minutes, and still no voices. That was a good sign, right?

"Psst!" She gasped and hurled herself further into the curtain. That didn't sound like Quasi's voice. "No, c'mere! It's alright, I just wanna talk to ya!" It didn't sound like the minister's, either. She peered through one of the holes in the curtain, but all she could see were a few scattered statues. Their eyes seemed to be moving in the candlelight.

One of them started moving—no, _hopping_—toward her, and she squealed in terror. "Shhh!" it said, and tugged the curtain from her trembling hands. "Do you want Frollo to find ya?"

"W-why are you talking?" she stammered. "Why are you moving?"

The stone gargoyle put its hands on what she assumed were its hips and scowled at her.

"That's like me askin' you why you're breathing! Sheesh, would you calm down? I'm just a talking gargoyle, is all." Nakoma stared at it for several long seconds, trying to calm her frantic impulse to scream. Where had she seen something like this before? It shouldn't have been so shocking to her. She'd seen faces in trees before—that was it! Grandmother Willow! The day Pocahontas had introduced her to Grandmother Willow had probably been the single most shocking moment of her life. As she recalled that surreal moment her breathing began to slow.

"Are you gonna be alright, there, sweetheart?" The gargoyle was regarding her with concern.

"Yes," she said reluctantly, forcing herself to speak and acknowledge the reality of what was happening. "Who are you?"

"The name's Hugo," said Hugo, and jovially shook her trembling hand. "And these two stiffs over here are Victor and Laverne." He flourished his stony fingers toward two other gargoyles whose unmoving eyes were fixed on them. One of them, the smallest, wore a look of distaste, and the other seemed to be struggling to remain silent. When neither of them responded to Hugo's introduction he clomped over to them and waved his hands in front of their faces. "Come on, guys! Don't be rude!"

The tallest gargoyle's features animated suddenly, and his nervous gaze rested on Nakoma.

"Hugo," he hissed, "do you really think it's a good idea to be talking to her? Quasimodo will be angry—"

"You worry too much," Hugo said, and began pushing a panicking Victor toward Nakoma. "Come say how-do-you-do!"

"No, no, no," he cried, waving his arms in protest, "this is a horrible idea—"

"Ah, calm down, Victor, the secret's out anyway, no thanks to _you_, jabber-jaw," said Laverne, whacking Hugo in the back of the head as she hopped toward Nakoma.

"Hey!" barked Hugo as he stopped and rubbed his neck, dropping Victor in the process. Despite her disbelief Nakoma couldn't help but chuckle at their antics.

"So, where ya from, why 're ya here, and how'd you end up trapped here? " Laverne said. "If we're gonna talk to ya, we might as well learn about ya." All three of them gathered around her expectantly.

"Well, I'm from Jamestown. It's across the ocean from here." She gulped and forced herself to continue; the more she spoke, the more she could deal with the surrealism of it all. "I came to see the cathedral…it was kind of a pilgrimage of faith for me."

"You came to see _this_ dusty old place?" laughed Hugo. "Waste of time, if you ask me." Laverne nudged him in the side. "Ow!"

"Don't be rude!" she snapped.

"Well, maybe you could try being a little less violent!" he retorted.

"Please, continue," Victor said, giving the others a disparaging glare.

"Well, I heard that this was one of the most beautiful cathedrals in the world, and I'd never had an adventure before. So I took the opportunity, there was an unexpected detour and, well, here I am." She giggled nervously.

"Well, today was Quasi's first adventure, too," said Hugo.

"Too bad it turned out so horribly," added Victor, and all three of them sighed in pity.

"So you saw what happened?" Nakoma asked.

"Yeah, we saw the whole thing from up here." Laverne shook her head. "Poor thing."

"I'm just glad Esmeralda and I could do something for him," Nakoma said. "The way Frollo treats people isn't right at all. He shouldn't claim to be a man of God and act like that."

"So you mean God isn't stiff and boring like he is?" Hugo said.

"Of course not!" Nakoma laughed. "God is wonderful, and good, and loving. Of course, He is also just. He expects His people to do what He says. But all the things He says are for our good."

"That's what Frollo says to Quasi about not going outside," Victor said. "Is he right?"

Nakoma frowned. "Yes, in a way. People are so quick to judge on appearances." She could feel indignation rising within her and changed the course of her thoughts. "But I think that if he'd let him go outside from the beginning, people wouldn't react so strongly to him. Quasi has a kind and gentle heart that I believe people would love, if they would look past his face."

"Are you kidding? Quasi's the nicest guy I know!"

"Hugo, Quasi's practically the _only_ guy you know," said Laverne.

"Speaking of Quasimodo…" Victor gestured toward the ladder, where Quasi was standing, almost invisible in the shadows. As he stepped into the light, Nakoma could see shock and happiness blending on his features.

"You guys have never talked to anyone else before," he remarked.

Hugo shrugged. "Never really had the opportunity," he said.

"True, true," said Quasi, and then he turned joyful green eyes onto Nakoma. "By the way, that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said about me. Thank you."

"Oh, that?" Nakoma chuckled, failing to hide the blush creeping into her cheeks. "I was only stating a fact."

The five of them spent the evening talking amiably, but when Nakoma yawned suddenly Quasi glanced at her nervously.

"Are you tired?"

She nodded and blinked heavily. He leapt up and began to pillage things from around the room, mainly curtains and tapestries that could be used for bedding.

"I'm sorry I don't have a better place for you to sleep," he said, and his voice was trembling.

"What's the matter?" Nakoma stood, too, and followed him around the room. After a moment he finally stood still, and even in the feeble candlelight she could see blossoms of crimson unease all over his face and ears.

"I've never really had much company before, and I've _never_ had a woman here, ever. No one else has ever stayed up here with me, except for my friends." He pointed toward the gargoyles. "And they don't need a place to sleep."

Nakoma couldn't help but blush, too. It _was_ an awkward situation.

"Well, don't worry, okay?" She took the curtains from his hands. "I can make up my own bedding and everything, and we'll sleep on opposite sides of the room. Alright?" He smiled a little, and the blush faded slightly.

"Are you sure you don't need help with anything?"

She nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.

"I'll be fine."


	16. Eye of the Beholder

****A/N: Yay! I actually got this one out within a month! Big accomplishment for me, ha-ha. =) I'm really glad that everyone seemed to like the last chapter. Right now is kind of the development part of the story, and there's not a whole lot of fast-paced action right now, but it will pick back up, promise! In the meantime, please enjoy Chapter 16, and thank you for being so patient with my shenanigans! =)

**Chapter Sixteen: Eye of the Beholder**

Drizella peeked around the flap of her tent. There were only a few scattered gypsies here and there, going about their morning business. That was good. She didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. She'd combed her hair like Esmeralda had shown her but lain aside the gypsy garb Esmeralda had wrestled her into last night. Although they were beautiful, they weren't _her_, at least not yet. She needed time to adjust. Time to learn how to be herself…whoever 'herself' was.

She pushed the weathered thoughts aside and crept into the quiet morning of the catacombs, clad in the dress she'd come to them in. The few gypsies she encountered exchanged concerned or confused glances amongst themselves, but none stopped her. She quickened her pace self-consciously and ducked into Esmeralda's tent.

"Esmeralda?" She found her tying a headband into her mass of gorgeous black waves.

"Good morning," she greeted, and smiled at her reflection as she finished the knot. "I think that's the best I've ever tied this thing." She turned to acknowledge Drizella fully and shock flashed through her features. "What happened to your clothes?"

Drizella bit her lip in an attempt not to cry. _Calm down, she didn't mean it that way._

"I just thought…well, I'm not really ready to be wearing it _all_ the time yet. And besides," she said, her words quickening, "I wanted to go outside today, to go see Nakoma and take her some food. And," she said with a triumphant smile as she remembered her valid excuse, "and I didn't want to label myself as a gypsy and stand out. So I figured these clothes would be better."

Esmeralda studied her concernedly with narrowed eyes.

"Do the clothes make you uncomfortable?"

Drizella frowned, stared at the floor and rubbed her arm uneasily.

"A little," she admitted softly. "It's not that I don't think they're pretty," she hastened to add. "I just need time to get used to them."

Esmeralda sighed, but there was a smile on her face.

"Alright, I understand. Just promise me you'll wear them at night, while you're here in the catacombs. Just at night, when you're with me and the others. Then you can get used to them without having to wear them all the time."

Drizella nodded vigorously with relief.

"I promise. But I was wanting to ask you if it was alright for me to go outside."

"Of course," Esmeralda said, walking her toward the tent flap. "Just make sure you're not followed and come back as soon as possible. I'll get a few others to watch your back. Oh!" she said, and scooped up a basket from the floor. "Take this to Nakoma. It's got bread and some cheese and dried fruit in it. It should help, anyway. Tell her and Quasi 'hello' from all of us here."

"I will," she said, and then began on her way. One of the gypsies, presumably one of Esmeralda's friends who was going to make sure she wasn't followed, showed her a way around the water so she wouldn't get her shoes wet. Then she was outside once again, savoring the fresh breeze in her loose, combed hair. As she walked the streets of Paris, always keeping the towering cathedral directly in front of her, she eagerly watched the citizens at work and play. Children chased chickens across the road, wives gathered together like gaggles of geese and gossiped, and husbands hovered over hordes of merchandise in wagons and carts.

The sweet smell of freshly-baked bread overwhelmed her and she was suddenly homesick, at least for the company of her sister. She wondered if her mother had done anything terrible to Anastasia and the baker, but somehow knew that Cinderella wouldn't let that happen. Cinderella, that sweet, sweet girl. How many times over the years had she felt a twinge of regret, a sharp pang of guilt for abusing her, and then swept it aside in the name of her selfishness?

_That Drizella is no more,_ she reminded herself firmly as the guilt pricked her eyes with moisture. _This is a new day, and I refuse to be fake ever again_. The problem was, she'd lived so long with lies that truth for her was hard to find. Who was she, really? What was Drizella Tremaine really like? What did she love and what did she hate?

_I hate being used. _The thought surprised her, but it was true, _so_ true, she realized. She frowned as she stared at the cathedral and thought of her mother and of the cruel, black-garbed minister. _I hate it when people treat other people badly for no reason. I hate the way Mother treated us, all of us, when we told her we didn't want to be used anymore. I hate it when people lie to me or lie to get what they want._

She realized she was scowling rather fiercely and took a deep breath to smooth her features. _Alright. Now what do I love? _Images of people and memories of kindnesses assaulted her. _I love…friendship._ Pictures of Nakoma and Esmeralda and Cinderella stilled before her mind's eye._ Having someone to rely on. That's always nice. And kindness. Kindness for no other reason than simply to be kind. And people showing real love. Not fake love to get something from someone. _Quasimodo's plight and the way Nakoma and Esmeralda stood for him against the people of the crowd was something she would never forget, along with their terrifying flight from the cathedral afterwards.

Then she remembered someone grabbing her arm, someone leading her to safety in the aftermath of Esmeralda's daring escape, and couldn't help but smile. Yes, Clopin was a friend to her. She didn't understand why. Why had he picked her out from the crowd and chosen to help_ her_? If he hadn't, would she have ever been able to find Esmeralda? Would she have a place of safety to return to now?

She dammed up the flow of 'what ifs' rather forcefully and brought reality back to mind. It _had_ happened. He _had_ picked her out of the crowd, for whatever reason, and brought her to Esmeralda. And that was all that mattered, for now she was nearing the cathedral.

She focused on behaving normally and forced herself not to tug nervously at her sleeve or tuck her hair behind her ear too many times. Her careful steps echoed noisily off of the stone as she ascended the stairs up to the gigantic wooden doors. There were still guards at the doors, but neither of them were the same guard that had studied her the night before. They let her in without a word, and as the great doors shut behind her she struggled to adjust to the sparse light filtering through beautiful stained-glass windows. _Now where is that doorway?_

A twinge of panic sliced through her, but she forced her mind to go back to the first time she'd stood here, right inside the doors. Esmeralda had been singing, underneath an enormous circular window. She walked farther in and found the window. Good. Now where exactly had she been standing? She turned toward the pillars close to the walls and suddenly spotted the doorway, beckoning to her welcomingly. Feeling quite proud of herself, she set off in that direction, trying not to walk too quickly.

Once on the stairs, though, she darted up as quickly as she could. She couldn't believe she'd actually found it! Just wait until she told Nakoma—

"Oof!" She tumbled into a mess of limbs and cloth and panicked, struggling to free herself.

"Drizella?" said the figure.

"Nakoma!" She rolled away and leaned against the wall of the staircase in relief. "I was scared you were Frollo."

"Me, too," said Nakoma. They began picking up the items that had been thrown from Drizella's basket. "I heard you coming but there was no time to hide."

"I didn't hear you at all," Drizella said. Nakoma smiled and handed the basket to her.

"I've been taught all my life to walk silently," she said.

"This basket is for you." Drizella pushed the basket into her hands. "I can't stay long, Esmeralda says I need to come back as soon as possible."

"I was going to find the archbishop, anyway," Nakoma said, and then peeled back the cloth covering the food with a hungry sigh. "Thank you, my friend. I can walk you back down the stairs, at least." They started off back down the stairs, arm-in-arm and whispering amiably. Drizella couldn't help thinking, as they talked, that she would have liked Nakoma to come with them. Maybe she could bring her back…but not without Esmeralda's permission.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked as they reached the bottom of the stair.

Nakoma raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I just wanted to offer. I realize that Esmeralda and I ran away and left you here. I would have to go back and ask for her permission, of course—"

"No." Drizella flinched at the sudden response. Nakoma laughed, patting her arm. "No," she said more gently. "I'm fine here. And if I need to leave, I'll find a way out. Thank you for asking, though. It means a lot."

Drizella smiled. It felt good to be appreciated. _Genuinely_ appreciated.

"And just so you know," Nakoma said, "I can see a lovely heart in you." Drizella, taken aback, could do nothing but stare at her. She, plain Drizella, _selfish_ Drizella, mean Drizella who had bullied a poor orphan for years, had a _lovely_ heart?

"T-thank you," she said uncertainly, and stumbled away toward the door struggling to keep her eyes from misting over.

_Beauty must truly be in the eye of the beholder_, she thought, _because I see nothing lovely about me. Nothing at all._


	17. Rescue Me

_****_A/N: Hey, guys! I'm REALLY REALLY sorry I haven't gotten this chapter out sooner. The end of the semester was killer, and I've spent most of the summer looking for a job. As you can tell by my lack of postings, I've found one. =P But I knew I had to get this out soon so I set aside a little time to finish and polish it up so I could get it out to you guys. Hope I haven't lost you guys! Thanks to all of you, my beautiful readers! =D You guys inspire me to keep writing and never give up!

_**Chapter Seventeen: Rescue Me**_

Nakoma watched Drizella leave, her silhouette small and slender in the light streaming through the open doors. _Freedom_, her mind said, and she stared longingly until the doors closed and blanketed her in darkness. _Well, I hope she makes it back okay, anyhow._ With a sigh she turned toward the stair.

"I thought you were still here," said a cold, deep voice. She had to stop quickly to avoid running into him. Frollo snatched at her wrist but she jerked away and leapt backwards.

"I've claimed sanctuary!" she said. "You can't touch me."

In reply Frollo snapped his long, bony fingers; guards appeared from within the church and surrounded them.

"This isn't right. This is a holy place! They're not supposed to be in here—"

"Frollo!" another voice cut hers off, and with relief Nakoma saw it was the archdeacon, marching toward them with fury in his eyes. "Get those guards _out_ of here!"

Frollo bristled and glared down at Nakoma.

"I'm not finished with you, gypsy. Just wait. I'll catch Esmeralda, too."

"_Out_!" hissed the archdeacon, pointing firmly toward the door. Frollo swept past him, nearly knocking him over, and snapped his fingers once again. The guards made a trail behind him, and as soon as the last one was through the door the archdeacon firmly pushed it shut and then heaved an angry sigh.

"Why is he so disrespectful to the church?" Nakoma asked. "I thought he was a minister of the church."

"He is, he is," sighed the archdeacon, and gently took her arm to pull her away from the door. "But once his mind is set on something it's nearly impossible to get him to stop." His words sent a twinge of fear through Nakoma, first for herself and Quasi, and then for Drizella and Esmeralda.

"He said he was going to find Esmeralda. Does that mean he's hunting her?"

"More than likely. I told him he was wasting his time." He gave a short chuckle. "One thing that has always impressed me about gypsies is their ability to escape notice."

Nakoma snorted.

"Well, apparently I'm not turning out to be a very good one. I ran right into him."

The archdeacon smiled, and then studied her carefully.

"You are _not_ a gypsy, are you?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm from Jamestown. It's quite a long way from here."

"Jamestown. Is that somewhere in England?"

"No, it's across the sea from England."

The archdeacon raised his eyebrows.

"Interesting. Our knowledge of the world is expanding all the time." He paused in his walk and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You have a strong spirit for someone so young," he said. His kind blue eyes seemed to examine her heart, and Nakoma was filled with a strange joy as his smile seemed to indicate his approval of what he saw. "Don't let go of that fire." He turned toward the heart of the cathedral and continued walking, while Nakoma gazed after him, full of questions too numerous to ask and wonder too deep to express.

As Drizella peeled back the door of her tent, tired and sweaty from the long walk, she heard the unmistakable jingle of coins and bangles and turned to find Esmeralda running towards her.

"I'm so glad you made it back safely," said the raven-haired beauty, pulling Drizella into an uncharacteristic hug. "Did you hear? Frollo's after me _and_ the Court of Miracles."

"That's terrible," said Drizella. "What does he want with the Court?"

"He's probably been looking for it for a while," Esmeralda replied. "He doesn't like any of the gypsies, but he's got a special vendetta against me, it seems." She bit her lip and frowned. "I hate to say this, Drizella, but we can't let you go out anymore. It's too risky."

Drizella's heart fell, but she nodded. It seemed she was trapped again.

"I understand. I just hope Nakoma will be alright."

Esmeralda smiled. "Don't worry," she said, "I'm sure Quasimodo will take good care of her."

"I hope so," Drizella said. She turned, crestfallen, to go into her tent.

"Drizella." Esmeralda's tone was gentle, almost motherly. "I really am sorry. It was never my intention to trap us all here."

Drizella smiled to ease her guilt.

"I know," she said. "I'll be alright. It's Frollo's fault, really, not yours."

Esmeralda laughed.

"I suppose you're right. I'll see you later, then? And make sure you're wearing the clothes we picked out." She winked before turning back the way she'd come.

Drizella ducked into her tent at last. She had been planning to stay there, perhaps just take a nap until it was time for supper. But although she was tired, she was restless. The news that she couldn't leave the Court weighed on her heavily, though this was certainly a better prison than her mother's home. Whatever luxuries the manor had afforded her were all overwhelmed by the sense of nausea she had every time the word 'ball' and 'fairy godmother' were mentioned. _Poor Cinderella. _

Drizella sat down on the floor of her tent and covered her face in a sudden (though increasingly frequent) onslaught of shame. How had she dared to try to take away something that someone else had worked so hard for, had suffered and been tortured for? It simply hadn't been hers or Anastasia's lot in life to be married to the prince, and that was that, no matter how many tricks they and their mother had pulled in order to have it turn out otherwise. Cinderella got her happily-ever-after no matter what they did.

_And Anastasia got hers_, Drizella thought, _once she stopped being so selfish. _She then remembered her own terrified reflection in the lavatory of her mother's manor, watching the water and grease drip from her hair with round and bloodshot eyes. _And what have I got?_ she asked herself. But glancing around at the small but colorful gypsy tent she immediately found her answer and allowed herself a small, sad smile. _I've got my freedom_, she told herself firmly, _and true friends that are willing to risk their safety for it._

With her impromptu pep talk, she felt a little better. She shed her clothes and found another dress from home in her pack. _I'm going exploring,_ she declared to herself cheerily. _There is no reason to sit around here and mope. _Once she was dressed she peeked out at the streets from the doorway of her tent. There were a few gypsies here and there, but not enough for the area to be considered crowded. She debated with herself for a moment, then retreated back inside and found one of the ribbons Esmeralda had used to tie up her hair. She pulled it back and combed it a little; the strands fluffed up nicely, she thought, and would add enough of a gypsy flair so that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't get ogled at.

Once she was satisfied with her appearance she slipped out of her tent and strode farther into the Court, where several people milled about. Several of them glanced at her, but at least they weren't staring anymore, and Drizella found she could even nod her head in greeting and receive a nod or a smile in response. Feeling more confident, she freely looked around as she walked, much like she had in her few brief moments of freedom outside. Life down in the Court wasn't much different from the life above it. People still met with one another, bought and sold from each other and haggled over prices; children still ran around their mother's feet, chasing each other's heels; and there seemed to be an even stronger sense of unity here than anywhere she had ever been. These people were brought together by their common race—and subsequently, the trials and persecutions they shared. They were all driven to this hiding place by the same man and all had the same bitter hatred for him as a result. _It's a sad community,_ Drizella thought, _but a community nonetheless._

The colors of the tents fascinated her and repulsed her at the same time. In a way they reminded her of the bright colors she and Anastasia used to masquerade in. But now the colors were used not as an attention-getting device, but as a way to genuinely convey the uniqueness of a culture and a way of life. These colors distinguished them from their more neutral and bland French countrymen, and threw festivity in the face of their dreary and austere daily routines. _Not that there's anything wrong with either way of life,_ Drizella thought. _They're just different. They're all humans—just one of them wants to be an artist and the other wants to be a farmer_.

"Hey!" She jumped and turned to look behind her. A tall man with a short beard and small, glittering eyes was grinning at her stupidly. "Where're you going?"

"Oh, me? I-I was just walking around." She glanced around in apprehension, realizing she must have strayed into someone's lot. "I'm sorry, I can leave."

"Nah, it's okay," said the man, taking another step toward her. She didn't like the hungry look plastered on his features. "The road is open to everybody."

"Then why did you stop me?" She tiptoed backwards, hoping her steps were small enough to escape his notice.

"I just wanted to talk to you, that's all. It's not often we have outsiders here. Say," he said suddenly, and his words dropped into a low, soothing register, "where are those pretty gypsy clothes you were wearing the other night?"

"I…they're in my tent. Why do you want to know?" The old, familiar bite came back into her words, and for once, she was grateful for it. The man kept coming closer.

"Why don't you go put them back on? They make you look ten times prettier."

"Well, I—I can't believe you would—" Drizella stumbled backwards, trying to push her angry words past the painful lump in her throat. Her cheeks blazed, and her only thought was to get back to her tent before the tears fell. She pushed past him to run away, but he caught her around the waist with a laugh.

"What's the matter? That was supposed to be a compliment."

"Let me go!" she shrieked, slapping at his arms. "Let me go!"

"Anthony!" A new voice cut through her cries, and the tall man dropped her to the floor.

"Clopin!" The man gave a nervous laugh. "How…how are you? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Do not speak to me as if you were my friend," said Clopin. Drizella saw rage pulsing in each of his clenched fists and hiding maliciously under the guise of his calm words. Clopin may have been much smaller than Anthony but he was far more intimidating. "Now help the lady off of the floor, where you so rudely dropped her." The man hurriedly stooped and pulled Drizella to her feet. "Look at her face. Look how you've made her feel." Drizella dropped her gaze to avoid his and busied herself with brushing the dirt from her skirts. "Unwelcome, uncomfortable, _ashamed_. Tell me, Anthony, who is it that should be ashamed?"

"I am." The big man sounded genuine. "I'm sorry, Clopin, I—"

"And what makes you think that I am the one who needs the apology?"

Anthony dropped his head, and Drizella looked up at him. His features oozed sorrow, but for some reason she had a sick feeling in her gut. Somehow she felt that he was only sorry he was getting scolded by Clopin.

"I'm sorry, miss."

"Well," Drizella said, though her tone still held some malice, "I suppose that will do."

"She is good to forgive you, Anthony. Now promise me something."

"Anything, Clopin," Anthony replied.

"Do not speak to her unless it is to greet her politely and then move on. I _will not _hear of this happening again. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Now go." Clopin pointed firmly towards the direction Anthony had come. The big man lumbered off; he looked back once, but Clopin sent him a glare so fierce that he broke into a run. As soon as he was gone Clopin was at her side.

"I must apologize, madam. Most of us are trustworthy but there's always a bad apple in every group."

"I'm fine, really," Drizella said, giving a nervous chuckle. But she was shaking and it didn't escape his notice.

"At least let me escort you to wherever you are going," he insisted, offering his arm. "I don't trust these hooligans, and if I let you go alone I can almost guarantee that Anthony will find you again." His brow furrowed. "Where is Esmeralda? She is usually with you."

"I don't know," she said. "She told me that Frollo is looking for her."

"That is not good," Clopin said, "but it doesn't surprise me." He glanced at her, moving closer, and offered his arm again. "Come. Let us walk." Feeling a little silly, she took it, but she did feel better with him beside her. As if in response he patted her hand comfortingly. "Now, where are you going?"

"Well," she said, fighting the blush heating her face, "I was really just looking around. I've never been outside my tent before today."

"Perfect," he said, and grinned. "I was just out getting some fresh air. Well, perhaps fresh is not the best word choice," he amended as they passed a rather pungent vegetable stand.

"Perhaps not," Drizella laughed, scrunching up her nose, and the warm smile and gentle squeeze of her fingers that he rewarded her with made her feel more like a princess than she ever had, even while curtseying to the prince and his father in the castle back home.


	18. Shining Eyes

A/N: It has taken me forever to find time to write this thing! It didn't take me too long-I had my creative juices flowing today, I guess. Sorry it has taken me so long to update! I hope it was worth the wait, and hopefully Chapter 19 will be up and running before the new year! Without further ado... here is Chapter 18. =)

_**Chapter Eighteen: Shining Eyes**_

The streets were bathed in fire. The air they breathed, even from this height, was thick with suffocating smoke. Nakoma felt tears pricking at her eyes, due to both the smoke and her rampant worry. Quasi, too, had shining eyes as he strained to see the city below them, desperate for some sign of life or normalcy, desperate to catch a glimpse of their dear friends alive and safe. After a moment Quasi coughed and turned away from the railing.

"Do you think they're alright?" he said. Nakoma followed him inside, away from the inferno, and shrugged.

"There's no way to tell. I just wish there was some way they could communicate with us."

"Yeah, well, with all those guards, and everything burning, and..." Quasi trailed off with a sigh and sat down at his work table, picking up the little sculpture of Esmeralda he'd been working on. "Especially that Phoebus. I don't trust him." Nakoma sat next to him, confused.

"What do you mean?"

"He showed up the night she escaped, pretending to be her friend."

"How do you know he was pretending?" Nakoma asked.

"How else?" Quasi stood up and jumped onto the platform with the bells. "He's helping Frollo burn down the city looking for her."

"I see," Nakoma said, and thought for a moment. "What if he's helping _her_, though? What if he is playing both sides to her advantage? Maybe that's why Frollo hasn't found her yet."

"That's crazy!" snapped Quasi. He sat down roughly on the platform and studied the clapper of one of the bells. "Why would he do something like that?"

"It's not so different than what you do for me," Nakoma suggested. "You hide me from Frollo so that I won't get caught, but the whole time you pretend that you're on his side. Do you see now?"

Quasi shook his head and leapt down from the platform. "Phoebus is different. I can feel it. He's one of those sneaky men who manipulate people to their own advantage."

"Quasi, that's a very harsh thing to say about a man you hardly know," Nakoma scolded. Quasi sat down at the table with a huff and began to carve at one of his sculptures. "Look, I know you're worried about her. We all are. I'm worried about Drizella, too. But we have to stay positive. Worrying about things we can't control will do nothing for us."

"And besides," chimed Hugo, startling them as he burst into life, "if I know Esmeralda, she's three steps ahead of Frollo and well out of harm's way!" Quasi put down his sculpture.

"Do you really think so?"

"Hey, when things cool off, she'll be back. You'll see."

"I hope so." Quasi stood again. "I'm going to sit on the roof for a while. Maybe I'll find out something." He ran to the staircase, followed closely by Nakoma.

"Quasi, you know it will just make things worse," she warned. He didn't answer until they were both seated on the roof, surrounded by the smoke once again.

"I can't stop watching for her. I feel like...like if I stop watching, she will need my help and I won't be there." Nakoma didn't say anything for a while. She knew how he felt; she'd experienced it so many times with Pocahontas. She had always been running off, getting into trouble, without telling anyone where she would be, or for how long. It was always Nakoma that went out searching for her or sent someone after her when it got too late. But Pocahontas had always made it home, and always before Nakoma or her search party had returned to the camp.

"I think Hugo is right, Quasi," she said quietly. "She will find her way back, somehow. She's tough, and smart, and not afraid of anything." _And she will protect Drizella, too,_ Nakoma thought, speaking as much to herself as to Quasi. As she closed her eyes against the stinging smoke, and the light began to fade, and the silence closed in between them and thoughts of Esmeralda's bravery began to form dreamlike visions in her mind, Nakoma slumped onto Quasi's shoulder in a gentle doze.

Quasi felt the sudden pressure and almost jerked away in fear, until he realized Nakoma had fallen asleep and was using his arm as a pillow. For a moment—just a small moment—he forgot about Esmeralda. He forgot about the burning city. He forgot about Frollo and Phoebus and all of those people he wished he had the power to stop. Here was a young woman, unafraid of him, not repulsed by his ugliness—so trusting in him, that she dared to fall asleep in his presence, and even dared to trust him to catch her. For a moment—just a small moment—he smiled at her, at the way her face was flat on one side because her cheek was pressed to his shoulder, at the way her breath tickled the hairs on his arm. Then the moment passed, and the smile faded, and he remembered Esmeralda and the city on fire.

"We'd better get inside," he whispered. Then he slowly gathered her up and carried her as she slept back into the prison of the bell-tower.


	19. Sunlight

_A/N: Here it is, guys! I'm so excited I could publish this today! I'm sorry it's taken me so long. I think you'll enjoy this chapter, though. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to all my lovely readers and followers! You inspire me to keep going, even if it's months between updates! 3_

_**Chapter Nineteen: Sunlight**_

Drizella bit her lip with worry as she and Clopin saw Esmeralda off, through the graveyard and into the burning Paris beyond. She didn't say a word until they were safely within the Court of Miracles.

"She'll be caught for sure. They're looking for _her_, you know." Clopin smiled.

"Esmeralda is the least likely of any of us to be caught," he said, "and there is really no use in stopping her from leaving. She will find a way out."

Drizella nodded, but it didn't make her feel any better. There was still a burning city out there, and a judge burning with rage. If Esmeralda was caught... "Can I cook you a meal?"

She met Clopin's gaze with surprise. _What kind of a question was that?_ He simply grinned, and before she could stop herself she smiled back.

"Well, I suppose," she said, trying to fight off the warmth in her cheeks, "but why-"

"You know, your smile is quite beautiful," he said. Drizella blinked. She felt her blush deepening, and she gulped past a suddenly dry mouth.

Clopin cleared his throat and finally averted his eyes. "Well, come along," he said jovially, extending his arm toward his tent. He hurried ahead of her and disappeared into the tent, pinning back the flap so she could come inside. To her further surprise, there was already a pot full of water, bubbling away atop a small flame. Somehow Clopin had found or made a metal ring that encircled the pot and kept it hovering just above the fire.

He sat in front of this pot, chopping carrots, potatoes, onions and countless other vegetables into it quicker than she could follow. "Come, sit," he urged. She did, and watched as he seasoned the mixture in the pot with several handfuls of a pungent herb.

"Did you plan this?" she asked.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Clopin avoided her eyes, but he was smiling. He gave the mixture in the pot a few more good stirs and then produced a finger puppet from behind his back. Drizella giggled, as it resembled Clopin almost perfectly. He began to sing, much like he had at the Festival, but this time the song was different.

"A sister whose name is Cinderella,

A past that is full of woe,

That is all I know of my dear Drizella,

That is all she would have me know."

Drizella couldn't help but laugh—the puppet had made the words sound so silly.

"That's not all you know about me," she protested with a smile.

"Au contraire!" he said. "I feel as if I hardly know you!"

Drizella thought about her mother, about Cinderella, about practically everything in her past, and her smile faded.

"You know enough," she said.

"Ah, see?" Clopin held up a finger. "There you are again, evading me. Do not friends learn more of each other as time goes along? I simply wish to do the duty of such a friend, and in return, you shall know more about me."

Drizella raised an eyebrow. To learn more about this man, perhaps one of very few who cared for her, was a very tempting offer. But could she pay the price? Would he leave her alone if he knew how cruel and petty she had been?

"Well, I..." she began to protest, but could not think of a legitimate need to hide from him besides her own fear of losing his friendship. _But in order to keep him, I must risk losing him,_ she thought. And his kind eyes, wide and resting their concerned gaze on her burning face, affirmed her inner voice. "I suppose I have no choice," she relented.

"There is always a choice," Clopin said, his worried gaze relaxing into a gentle smile. "That is what makes the sharing all the more valuable."

Drizella smiled; he had the tendency to be very philosophical at times. But as she thought again about where to begin, her frown returned. Should she start with her childhood? What important event had happened then? Her mother had remarried and Cinderella had come into the picture. As she recalled her stepfather's kind words and gentle features, she smiled.

"I will say it again, your smile is very beautiful. Would you like to share what has made you smile this time?" Clopin said. Her reverie broken, she glanced up sharply; he had stopped stirring and was watching her expression with an admiring smile. The sudden attention brought heat rushing to her face, and a laugh burst from her lips as she looked away.

"I-I'm sorry," she said, "I was just...thinking." Clopin picked up the wooden spoon and began to stir again, though he still looked at her expectantly. "I was just remembering my stepfather." She smiled again. "He was so kind to me and my sisters. Of course, Cinderella was the apple of his eye. Who could blame him? But he loved us as well. Every thing was...was really nice when he was around. Only mother made Anastasia and I treat Cinderella badly and encouraged our meanness towards her when we were children. And I suppose...that remained when Cinderella's father died." She frowned. "It was like a light had gone out, and poor Cinderella was so sad and lonely. Then everything just got worse. She was made a servant. A servant in her own home! All because Mother wanted the prettiest daughters, the daughters that would marry the prince, and Cinderella got in the way of that." She shut her mouth and her eyes against the lump in her throat. She didn't want to cry now—she hadn't even gotten to the worst part. But the tears were already leaking out; she covered her eyes with her hands, trying in vain to blot out the memories. Tripping Cinderella up the stairs and making her break all the china; watching her get whipped with twisted satisfaction; looking hungrily for any hint of impatience or hatred in her bright eyes as she stooped to every menial task and drudgery they could think to put her to; tearing and shrieking like banshees at the beautiful pink dress she had made from their unwanted scraps of fabric and beads—it seemed they would never grow out of their childish, hateful antics. What they had hoped would destroy Cinderella only made her better and stronger, while they grew more and more corrupted in their petty willfulness.

Until Cinderella won and they got a taste of their own medicine.

That was when Anastasia had gotten her happily ever after—and her excommunication from her mother's home. Drizella, too, had lost the urge to fight—Cinderella was simply meant to be with the prince. They weren't. End of story.

But she had been the only one left after Anastasia's marriage, and Lady Tremaine was as stubborn and adamant as diamond. Oh, why hadn't she seen the vanity of it all sooner?

Drizella let herself cry. It was the only way to get past her remorse and make herself say what had to be said. She heard the scraping of the spoon on the pot stop, but didn't dare look up. A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder, rested there for a moment, and then departed. All the while, Drizella shook with silent sobs.

She was sorry; she wished she could take it all back, could go back to the past and stand up for Cinderella, befriend her, _love_ her as her father had so graciously loved and adopted them as his own. Instead she had repaid his kindness with cold condescension and left his memory to burn, forgotten, in the fires of her desire to be loved by royalty.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Her own voice in the now silent tent seemed too loud. She hastily wiped away her tears with her sleeve and peered up cautiously, head bent with shame. To her surprise, the fire was out, and Clopin was gone.

"Well, I..." She stood, examining the entirety of the little tent, her anguish forgotten for a moment in her sudden indignation. "How could he just leave me here?"

"I could not bear to see you cry," came a meek voice from outside the tent. Drizella peered out and saw Clopin with a small trowel. He offered his free arm and smiled. "Come. There is something I want to show you." Clopin led her through the maze of tents to the outside, careful not to step in the water. They came out into the graveyard, a dull, silent heap of tombstones which seemed to defy the golden sunlight filtering through the smoky air. "This way," said Clopin, beckoning. She followed him warily to a darkened, shady corner of the dirt under a scraggly bush. Peering more closely at it, she saw lots of thorns jutting out from the slender stems which drooped under their own weight. Near the tops of the stems were several greenish-brown buds, all tightly closed.

Clopin yanked the plant up, exposing its shriveled roots to the light. "Will you carry that watering can?" He pointed to it briefly before traipsing off toward the light. She picked it up—it was a small thing, only half-filled—and followed him, confused thoughts tumbling through her mind. _What on earth is he doing out here, and all this fuss over a little plant? It's so ugly and withered...like me._ She scowled and pushed the thought away forcefully. No use thinking of that right now.

As she approached Clopin, she saw him pulling and tugging at other, smaller plants near the base of a fence-post.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am weeding, my dear. I am getting rid of the bad-" he grunted as he yanked out a stubborn weed, "-to make the ground healthy for my special plant."

"You mean that old thing?" Drizella recognized the old sneer in her voice and hurried to correct it. "I mean, I am just confused as to what makes it special. It looks dead to me."

"Ah, but there is life in it yet!" The conviction in his voice made her smile. He threw the last of the weeds aside and dug in the loose ground with the trowel. "You see, I found it one day amid all those other awful plants and knew at once that I must rescue it."

"But why?" Clopin took the watering can from her and moistened the ground in the small hole he had dug. He then carefully took the plant and lowered its roots and bottom into the hole, covered it with dirt, patting gently all around, and watered it again.

"I am putting it in the sunlight because the poor thing was dying. You were right. It had no warmth, no light. The other plants were choking it, so it had no room to grow." He took bits of string from his pocket and began to tie the stems loosely around the fencepost. "Here, supported by this fencepost, it can climb and spread and grow, and these little buds-" he took her hand and pulled her closer to the plant, pointing precisely, "-these buds will bloom beautifully and give such a sweet smell that passers-by will stop and admire them." Drizella looked at the bud, examining its tightly wound shell, and found no signs of hope that it would ever bloom. "This, my dear, is a rosebush, one-of-a-kind, hardy, _very special_. It can survive almost anything, but it needs light, just like other plants."

She felt his gaze on her and gulped, slowly piecing his words together as her throat tightened and her eyes filled with moisture. He turned her face gently so that their eyes met, and gently brushed her hair back behind her shoulder. "The only thing I do not know is what beautiful color it shall bloom." He smiled broadly. "But with enough sunlight, we shall know in good time."

She felt her lip quivering and couldn't help but smile. Tears dropped onto her cheeks unwilled. He pulled her into a tight hug, running his fingers through her hair. In all her daydreams about royal love, she had never imagined anything like this, never imagined that a man could see her without trappings and makeup and love her soul, love what she could be, would hold her in his arms so willingly and gently as he did now. It didn't matter, she now knew, who the love came from. Love was as rich—no, much richer, she thought, as she listened to his heartbeat and felt the rise and fall of his chest—coming from Cinderella's father, from Esmeralda, Nakoma, and yes...Clopin, than it ever could have been from the prince under an enchantment. It was pure, real, golden, and warmed her from the inside out...just like sunlight.


	20. A Guy Like You

A/N: The next chapter already! I am so excited! I hope you all enjoy this one, and please feel free to suggest whatever you like! I got through this one rather quickly. =) Thank you all for reading! P.S. Sorry about the next chapter spoilers-I forgot to separate them into separate documents. Whoops! ^^'

_**Chapter 20: A Guy Like You**_

Nakoma was rather impressed with the gargoyle's ability to put on a full-fledged song to cheer up Quasi and soothe his worries for Esmeralda. It was more than she could do, for sure. Their confidence-inspiring number had boosted Quasi's self-esteem and banished his worries, all in one fell swoop. And, Nakoma felt that the gargoyles had a point. He was certainly unique, certainly special...certainly a wonderful man with a kind and childlike heart. She thought that it made perfect sense for Quasi to like Esmeralda, and for her to possibly like him as well. What wasn't there to like about her? She was beautiful, kind, funny, and she had defended Quasi, risking her own freedom to help him. She was also very colorful—Quasi's lonely, curious heart couldn't help but admire her.

Nakoma couldn't hold a candle to her. It was just like Pocahontas all over again. She was overlooked, a drab, dull thing beside the fiery beauty of Esmeralda's adventurous spirit.

These thoughts struck Nakoma as sudden, sharp and out of place. Why was she worried about Quasi's affections? Why did thinking of Esmeralda cause something in her to simmer enviously? She had only known Quasi for a couple of days. _But Quasi's been with me longer,_ she thought. Scowling, she tried to push the sore thoughts away. _What is the matter with me?_

A sound from below made Nakoma and Quasi both jump. Nakoma knew she was fairly safe in her hiding spot, back behind some old drapery by the bells. Quasi peeked down toward the door, and Nakoma heard Esmeralda's frantic voice echoing up.

"Quasi? Quasimodo?" Quasi whirled toward the steps to see Esmeralda, his face full of relief and joy.

"Esmeralda! Esmeralda, you're alright! I knew you'd come back!"

"You've done so much for me already, my friend, but I must ask for your help one more time."

"Yes, anything," Quasi said. Esmeralda came fully into the room, seemingly strained—Nakoma twisted in her hiding place to get a better view. She saw Quasi's smile fade quickly and realized that Esmeralda was dragging a wounded soldier!

"This is Phoebus. He's wounded, and a fugitive like me. He can't go on much longer. I knew he'd be safe here. Please, can you hide him?"

Quasi seemed torn, but quickly relented.

"This way," he said, and led them to his little pallet. Nakoma realized she could be of help and gingerly came out of her hiding place.

"Esmeralda," she said. The gypsy glanced up sharply but relaxed on seeing Nakoma approach. "If there's anything I can do..."

"Can you light some candles? I need some light." Nakoma set about the task, glad to be out in the open, being useful. She would be able to assess what was going on much easier this way. As the candlelight illuminated their makeshift hospital bed, Nakoma sensed something familiar in the face of the blond soldier. The white cloth shirt on his chest bore heavy bloodstains, and his chest seemed to rise and fall very shallowly, as if he couldn't take in enough air. Esmeralda lifted up his head while Quasi pushed a rolled blanket under it. Once this was done Phoebus began to stir, moaning in pain.

"Esmeralda?" he whispered.

"Shh...shh, shh. You'll hide here until you are strong enough to move." The tenderness with which she put a finger to his lips made Nakoma a little uncomfortable. With the candles lit, her job accomplished, she quickly moved away from the pallet and stood beside Quasi, who was watching them intently. Nakoma knew what he was suspecting and couldn't help but think that he was right. They watched as Esmeralda pulled out and unstopped a burlap wineskin with her teeth.

"Great...I could use a drink," said Phoebus. Esmeralda peeled back the bandages on his chest and dumped the red liquid into the ugly wound, making him tense and gasp in pain. "Aah, yes! Hmm!" He twisted his face into a deliberately thoughtful expression. "Feels like a 1470 burgundy. Not a good year."

"That family owes you their lives," she said, apparently ignoring him as she took needle and thread to his wound. "You're either the single bravest soldier I've ever seen, or the craziest."

Phoebus smiled a little.

"Ex-soldier, remember?" He watched the needle moving in and out of his skin and winced in pain. "Ugh. Why is it, whenever we meet, I end up bleeding?"

Esmeralda bit off the thread.

"You're lucky," she said. "That arrow almost pierced your heart."

He abruptly but gently stopped her busy hands and pulled them down to his chest.

"I'm not so sure it didn't."

Nakoma felt her throat tighten and glanced quickly toward Quasimodo. He seemed to know what was coming, as his widened eyes revealed. Esmeralda, too, seemed surprised as Nakoma looked back at her, but Nakoma quickly looked away again as the two drew closer and met in a tender kiss. She looked helplessly back at Quasi, who grasped the wall behind him for support. She watched his shock morph to bitter resignation, and he pressed his back to the wall as he stared at the floor, unwilling to validate his heartbreaking reality with his eyes. Nakoma felt tears rising in her, but pushed them down and took a step toward Quasi. He glanced sharply at her, and, blushing, he turned away abruptly and stalked off. On nimble feet she followed him, finding him crouched down under one of the 'Maries.'

"Quasi?" He glanced at her, and the tears trailing down his face cut through her heart. "Quasi, I'm sorry." She ducked under the lip of the bell and sat cross-legged beside him. He sighed, chin resting on his arms, knees propping them up. He held a card in his hand—the ace of hearts.

"I really thought..." he sniffed, turning his face away from her to stare at the card. "I was almost convinced she liked me." He turned the card in his hands and then tore it in half, letting the two halves fall to the ground.

Nakoma placed a gentle hand on his back, words failing her. The only thing she could think of was that they were both miserable.

"Quasi," she began, but trailed off. She didn't know if she could continue, if she _should_ continue. Her feelings for him—she had to admit them to herself now—were so new, so fresh. Did she dare risk them? If he didn't connect the dots, if she presented them in a way that was ambiguous, it might help him, might take his mind off of his misery. She gulped and continued.

"Quasi, I...I overheard your conversation with the gargoyles."

"Y-you did?" He looked sheepishly at her. "So you knew all along."

"Of course I did," she said. "And I want you to know that I can understand. You see...there's a man. A man that I think...I'm falling in love with." Quasi looked at her with interest. "But he loves another woman. He doesn't know..."

"Oh, Nakoma, that's awful!" Quasi wiped the tears off his face and grasped her hand.

"He is so in love with this woman, but she does not love him. If only he could see..." she dropped her gaze to the wooden floor as tears fell unwilled. Quasi took her hand in both of his and patted it.

"He needs to pay more attention!" he declared. "Then he will find the love he is looking for. Nakoma, I hope that one day, he sees that there is someone who loves him, because you are one of the kindest, most loving people I've ever met, and you deserve it."

Nakoma smiled through her tears and studied his face discreetly. He, though smiling softly, refused to look at her; instead, he pushed around the two halves of the ace of hearts with his fingertips. It was obvious that though he thought she was worthy of the love he had just lost, he felt unwanted, undeserving, that somehow that broken heart was his and would always be his. She couldn't believe it. He didn't understand. She gently leaned over, put the torn card between their feet and pushed the two halves back together, stilling his hand with hers as he reached to touch it. He finally looked at her, confusion evident in his wide eyes.

"And a guy like you, Quasi...always showing love and kindness..." she said. "A guy like you deserves it, too."


End file.
